The Answer
by leavenodoubt
Summary: "Sometimes it was hard to separate the living from the dead because they all looked the same—all wore the same dead expression on their filthy faces." Post Twilight Princess: Ilia/Link
1. Chapter 1

**So this is just something I've wanted to do for a long time but I've had troubles getting out how I wanted until now. I have plans to make this into a longer, multi-chapter story, but we'll see what you guys think!**

**So one of my constant reviewers and I were discussing how there is not enough of this pairing, especially done where Ilia isn't a crazy possessive lunatic, completely mad, or an alcoholic. So we wanted to change that. I mean come on people, Ilia is Link's closest childhood friend who he goes through extreme lengths to save. That wasn't for nothing! I love Ilia, and I hope even if you are one of those people that found her extremely annoying (which I didn't, but this is a common theme with solid ZeLink...ers...), that my interpretation of her can sway you.**

**Final thing, I did not give up on Us Against The World. It is still in progress, and the gears in my head are still turning for it! I'm kind of a multi-tasker. Currently I am working on... two original stories, editing one, and two fan fictions. WELCOME TO MY LIFE!**

* * *

It was already late. Too late for others to still be awake, even those that were constantly in a state of worry. He looked out over the small, ransacked village, his knees pulled up tight to his chest, wishing he could have been there sooner.

His horse waited patiently for him by the spring, refreshing and hydrating herself in anticipation. She had a keen sense that her master was restless there, and that they would be leaving soon.

_Before the sun rises,_ he thought to himself, _before she wakes._

He felt the urgency to always be on the move, an inkling in the back of his mind that told him to never leave his feet planted for too long. He knew that it wasn't entirely his own desire, but mostly that of the girl hiding in his shadow. His stomach ached with a desire to stop moving, to be at home away from all this mess. And yet he would never abandon the reason he sat upon the inn's rooftop, gazing up at the stars through the haze of smoke.

Home felt far away, finding a way to fix everything gave him something.

Fixing her made him feel closer to home.

But he did fix her. And she was better. But still he didn't feel right like he thought he would.

He heard a door open and close then, a sound too close to him to be the main entrance to the inn. He turned his face towards the small trap door that led to the roof and saw the familiar flash of gold hair as she stepped through. She had a blanket draped over her shoulders though it slipped off one of them. He felt a dire urge to go and cover her back up.

"Hey," is all he said, so quietly he wondered for a moment if she heard him or not.

"Hey," she said back, coming to sit beside him.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

She shook her head, her pale skin glowing beneath the foggy moonlight. "I keep remembering things. There's so much."

"I know," is all he said in reply.

"Link," she said after a long moment of silence, only filled by the wind, and the trickling water in the spring, and the distant call of birds. He turned towards her, awaiting her voice quietly. "I'm glad I remembered you first."

His hand twitched though it went unnoticed by her eyes. He so longed to touch her hair gently. "You've had a long day," he said quietly, "you should get some sleep."

Her face set in determination, just the way it did when they were younger and she disagreed with him. "I don't need it," she said so quietly that her voice broke.

His eyes softened, her's, the gorgeous green color like the depths of the lake at home, searching his face. His heart fluttered as though he was anticipating something though he didn't know what. A thought flickered through his mind, the thought of holding her and falling asleep beside her and not having to leave. He bit his lip, frustrated with himself that he'd allowed his mind to entertain the thought. He needed her to go to sleep because he needed to go and he didn't want to tell her goodbye. She'd told him she would be okay, waiting there when he returned, but the thought of leaving her there unprotected would eat at any rationality in his thoughts.

"When you come back, after everything is set right, will you not look at me like you're afraid?" she asked him.

He furrowed his brow, winding his fingers through his hair, "I... I don't understand..."

"You don't look at me like you did before," she said, observing the pain in the rigid set of his fingers with a subtle ache in her heart.

He shook his head slowly, some sort of hurt filling his lungs and making it hard to breathe. "Will you tell me what they did to you?"

Her soft pink lips turned into a hard line. "They did a lot of things," she barely managed to whisper.

"Like what?" he asked, the desperation in his voice, clear.

She shook her head once, in the dim light he could see the beads of moisture in her eyes, "Link, if I tell you, you'll only blame yourself—"

"Yes, because it's my fault," he said, his voice shaking, "if I hadn't let them take you—"

It was her turn to cut him off with a firm gaze, "It is _not_ your fault."

A pained cry she barely heard bubbled past his lips as he leaned his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. He hadn't faced it before, but now with her here, not the empty shell of her, but the Ilia he grew up with, he felt the overwhelming guilt of letting her go.

A warm palm touched his arm then, though he refused to let his gaze fall upon her until he'd gained control of himself. When she spoke her voice was a trembling whisper, "When we go back home, when we sit by the spring like we used to, will you kiss me?"

Startled by her question, he glanced up at her if only to gauge her expression.

She bit her lower lip, "Why won't you say what's in your head?"

He didn't give himself a second to respond before he gave in. He leaned towards her quickly and caught her lips in his own, cupping a hand under her chin and reveling in the taste of her lips as he gently kneaded them with his own. She tasted like home. She only hesitated a second before taking in a shuddering breath and kissing him back, trapping his face against hers as her hand wound around the back of his head. His other hand found her bare shoulder, the pad of his thumb caressing the smooth skin there. She pulled back after a few moments, slowly, unsurely, but lingered in his embrace as he pressed his lips to her nose, then to her forehead before she curled herself under his arm, holding onto his knee.

Since that moment in the bar when she had looked right through him, not recognizing who he was and who they were together, he'd wanted to do that. And knowing that he couldn't, tormented him.

And now that he had, he knew.

He knew that he loved her.

* * *

His arrival home wasn't how he'd imagined it would be only a few days ago. He did not arrive home to the people of Ordon waiting patiently for him with smiles on their faces, hugging him and thanking him. There wasn't a celebration, there wasn't her, kissing his cheek and holding his hand beneath the table as they ate.

He arrived silently in the dead of night under the tired stars. He tied Epona up outside his home, a home that had sat long undisturbed, and found his bed. His body ached as he lay with eyes too tired to keep open, but that had seen too many things to keep closed.

He wept quietly, his arms bound tightly around his chest, grasping his shoulders in an attempt to hold himself together, wishing things hadn't happened the way they did. He wasn't entirely sure why he was crying, maybe it was the relief of finally being home, maybe it was for the pain in his every muscle combined with how tired he was. But more than anything, he thought it might be because of her. Because he would never see her again. His body burned as he tried to shed the memory of her face, the memory of her face disappearing to the sound of cracking glass.

He sat upright, bending his knees and resting his elbows on them to hold his head in his hands. The back of his neck and his hair were damp, his breath racing in and out too quickly. He didn't try to stop himself this time, because when tomorrow came, he would have to force it away, put on a face for the people he'd missed so much.

For Ilia.

He managed to take a deep breath at the thought of her face, the gentle smile giving him some sort of hope. He shed the shirt he was wearing, unable to take the heat any longer before he laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, at the dusty beams of moonlight filtering through the window high up on the wall.

For a moment, he idly wondered if he would ever be able to tell anyone. He wondered if even Ilia would ever know. For now, his lost companion only existed in the minds of himself and of the Princess of Hyrule, not a single other person even knew her name. He tried not to think of her, but every time her image, or the sound of her voice, or even her name managed to flicker in the forefront of his thoughts, a sharp pain shot through his chest. Tears rolled down his temples, tears he didn't wipe away as they sunk into his pillow and then disappeared. He lay silently until sleep touched it's cool fingers over his eyes and the memories of her subsided into a dream.

He dreamed of her for most of the night. Of Midna.

Ilia woke early, her father still dreaming and the village still under the lull of sleep as she walked barefoot up the way to Link's home. She found herself sitting on his porch some days, waiting for any sign of him. Others, she walked quietly to their spot by the spring and sat amongst the tall grass. Sometimes she just laid back and closed her eyes and listened, praying for him to come home.

He didn't come back to see her after she'd recovered her memories, not once. She had told him that she would be alright, that she would be waiting for him when he came back, but he never did.

She stopped, her heart lurching inside her chest when she saw a familiar sight just up ahead of her; Epona.

_Epona is back... which means..._

She picked up her feet quicker into a jog, petting the soft white hair on Epona's face when she drew near enough and analyzed the knot that bound Epona to her post. Ilia had untied Link's knots so many times she knew them off by heart, the way he would tie her up very specific to him. She climbed the ladder to his front door with shaking hands before pressing her ear to the wood, listening intently for any rustle from the other side, any movement that would indicate that he was home. Finally... home.

But there was nothing.

_It's still early_, she thought to herself with disappointment, _he's probably still sleeping. He's been through so much, he deserves a little rest._

She sat down beside the door, hugging her knees to her chest and waited.

She waited until after noon, and still there was nothing to indicate to her that Link was actually on the other side of the door.

After picking herself up and standing in front of his door for near a half hour, she finally convinced herself to open it, just to twist the knob to see if it would turn.

A breath of a sharp gasp escaped her lips as it twisted freely in her grasp. She swallowed, glancing behind her to see if anyone was watching, embarrassed that she'd been surprised. He hadn't locked his door that day they'd all been taken, and he hadn't locked it when he came back. She wondered why he wasn't worried about the younger children getting into his things. But then she supposed that her and the others were in Kakariko for most of the time.

She peered through the crack she'd opened the door, taking one step inside as she glanced at the items discarded around her; his shield and sword, his hat and tunic and gloves. His boots by the fireplace, his belts draped over the back of a chair. Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped all the way in, closing the door quietly behind her, the anticipation making it hard to breathe or swallow or even move.

She glanced up through the spiraling moats of dust, swirling in the streams of sunlight, and to the loft where he slept, unsure if she could see him there.

With trembling hands, she climbed the ladder to his loft with a measured pace, trying to keep from making any noise in fear of waking him. She bit her lip when she could finally see over the top, finally see the lump beneath his blankets. She crept over to him and knelt by his bedside, relief making the green in her eyes foggy.

He was still asleep, his mouth slightly agape as he breathed in and out slowly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, a scratch on the edge of his eyebrow. His shirt lay by her knees, his skin vulnerable, something that made Ilia's cheeks grow warm. His hair had grown longer in his time away, it made him look younger, or maybe it was just that he was sleeping.

She leaned over him, refusing to let out a breath as she pressed her lips delicately to his cheek before turning around and climbing back down the ladder. She would tell the others that he was home, but that he was resting.

When her feet touched the bottom floor, Link opened his eyes slowly. He grazed his fingertips along his cheek, the one she'd kissed, longing for her to do it again. He wasn't sure why he hadn't just opened his eyes then, or when she'd opened his door to begin with, but he didn't. He had remained still, feigning sleep like he was afraid to see her.

Because he _was_ afraid to see her. He was afraid to see anyone.

He was afraid of having to tell them the things that happened, of having to revisit them.

He shut his eyes again, pulling his blankets back up close to his chin and trying to escape once more.

* * *

"Ilia?"

She turned her head to find her father at the door of their home, peering down at her with confusion in his eyes as she sat on their porch. "Where have you been today? Nobody's seen you."

"Link's back," are the only words she shared with him.

"What? Where, where is he?" he asked, rushing to sit on the edge next to his daughter.

"Sleeping," she replied quietly, tracing a pattern on her knee with her finger, effectively avoiding his eyes.

"Did you talk to him?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"Did you see him?"

The back of her neck turned hot, "I... well, I went in—to make sure he was alright."

"Oh," he mumbled, "when did he get back?"

"He must have come some time in the night. He looked like he was alright... just tired," she said, hoping to cover all her bases and just drop the subject, "can you tell everyone not to bother him? Especially the kids..."

"Alright... where are you going?" he asked as she stood up as soon as he'd agreed.

"I don't know," she said, wandering up the hill towards the spring. He didn't question her any further.

When she was alone, she took Epona's reins and led her to the spring, stroking her mane and washing her off. She knew that Link must not have had time while he was away to give her the attention she needed, not that she blamed him like she once would have. It was probably for the better now, that he'd taken her jumping and had pushed her. She had probably saved his life on more than one occasion because she was strong. She was strong because of Link.

Ilia smiled to herself, remembering the flustered feeling in her heart when Link found her washing Epona, like she'd done something wrong or he'd be mad. He never was.

But her smile started to tremble, the fond memory turning into something more melancholic. She had hoped that when he came back home that he would be like he once was. But she knew something had changed within him. She knew that something wasn't right. When they were younger she'd notice his eyes fade to a forgotten place, the place that housed the memories of his early childhood and his parents. She felt like she was losing him to that place altogether.

"Please get better," she said for him though he would not hear her raw voice.

He laid in his bed until the sky grew dark, the beams of sunlight changing back to those of the moon. Fatigue weighed every limb, every muscle down until he felt as though he could barely move. He felt too tired to make food, too tired to get dressed, too tired to pull himself up. He found some peace in watching the miniature galaxy above him, the moonlight turning the drifting dust into stars. There was something so monotonous about the way one star would drift out of the stream of light and become a simple piece of dust again, but another would quickly take it's place. The constancy of it soothed his troubled thoughts, relaxed his tense muscles.

Suddenly the stars in the light above him started spinning, flying chaotically and it took him a moment to realize that his door had just opened, and that the draft from outside was interfering with the steady flow of dust particles. The door closed again, and the pandemonium slowed as gentle footsteps invaded the silence. He waited, laying on his back as she climbed the ladder to him, and finding his eyes, awake, open, but as though he was still lost to a dream.

She hesitated only a moment before sitting down on his bed, pulling back the covers enough that she could crawl beneath them and lay by his side. She nestled her nose beneath his jaw, held onto the side of his neck, her touch feather-light. She didn't know what had come over her, losing all sense of propriety, of boundaries, especially since the boy she shared this bed with was only half-clothed. But she needed to be this close to him now, to know that he was still living and breathing. That he was still the Link that kissed her on the rooftop.

Carefully, he laid his hand over her forearm, the one that was draped across his chest and touching his neck. He trailed his hand down to her elbow, then to her upper arm, holding her there.

The dust streams above him slowed back down as he held Ilia close, feeling the constant beat of her heart against his ribs. She didn't speak to him, didn't say a single word, but felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye and over the bridge of her nose, onto his skin. He slowly turned his face towards her, looking at her for the first time since he'd kissed her that night and she turned her big eyes to his. He let go of her arm for just one moment as he smoothed away the glossy trail left from her tear, before tucking her back into the place she was before.

He listened to her breathing, felt her heartbeat, watched the dusty stars above him as she fell into sleep. He didn't follow her, but he held her while she slept, the whole night through. It comforted him to have someone beside him.

He watched as the blue light in his home evaporated and was replaced by warm golden light, casting them gently into morning. He became restless. Letting go of Ilia's arm, he carefully sat up and settled her into his bed. She was so beautiful. He brushed some of her hair off her forehead with the back of his hands, a ghost of a smile passing his lips, a smile that quickly faded.

Along her hairline was a jagged white scar. He'd never noticed it when they were younger, no, he was certain she didn't have it before he'd left.

He remembered asking what they'd done to her, those creatures that had abducted her.

They had hurt her, because he hadn't been there.

He swallowed, quickly averting his eyes from her as he pulled himself up, his legs unsure on the ground as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Link?" the quiet voice behind him asked.

He turned around, giving her a brief smile in response.

"Where are you going?" she asked, concern pulling her eyebrows together.

He stepped towards her, weaving his fingers through her hair and kissing her forehead, "I'm just going to go ride for a bit." He chose to keep his burning desire to leave his home, the village, to himself.

"Oh... okay," she said, her voice quiet, unsure, "what time is it?"

"Early," he whispered, "I'll be back later. I promise."

"Okay," she murmured, believing in his words.

She followed him as he climbed down the ladder, he lent her his hand when she took her final step down but let go as soon as she touched the floor. They left his home and led Epona to the trail that led to the spring, and eventually the rest of Hyrule, before giving one last gaze to her as he climbed onto Epona's back, the deep blue, like that of a heavy thundercloud, meeting her soft green. She clasped her hands together at her chest as he kicked his heels into the mare's side, escaping the boundaries of the town, escaping the explanations and the inevitable pain that was associated with them.

He wasn't there when Fado, his employer came looking for him. Fado would notice Ilia still standing there, watching him go long after the sound of Epona's hooves had faded, and Ilia would tell him that Link had somewhere to go, something to do.

He rode hard, leaning forward, his neck bent as he pressed her faster if only just to be gone from the forest, leave the trees behind him. He burst through the treeline after some time, spilling out onto the wide plain of Hyrule, the mass of open space engulfing him in quiet. All of the sounds that found his ears were too distant to be heard in detail. Closing his eyes as Epona slowed and then stopped altogether, he felt a detachment from the world, from the things that were happening in it.

_All so far away_, he thought with relief, lifting his face to the sky, draped in the shadows of a storm recently passed. Drops of rain still hung in the air around him, every now and then a cold bead pricking his lips, his cheeks and forehead. He'd always liked the rain, the way it smelled, the way it sounded as it trickled through the thick foliage outside his home, the way it felt touching his skin.

His eyes opened slightly, the sun burning through the wispy remnants of a cloud, penetrating the moisture in the air and leaving behind a band of color. A short sigh escaped his lips; he felt something that had become foreign to him.

Peace, he felt at peace.

It was nearing twilight when Ilia gave up the hope that he would come back as soon as he'd promised. She questioned what later meant to him in comparison to what it meant to her. She knew he needed his space, needed time, but that didn't ease the longing in her heart for the feel of his skin again. All of the questions meant for him were directed towards her, and she could only answer so many before she had to tell them that she didn't know the answers herself. She watched as the sun hid behind the mountains, the sun spilling pink and red ink into the sky.

She cradled Uli's baby in her arms while her and her husband, Rusl sat by the water, watching Colin fish, Rusl's arm around his wife. Ilia sat on Uli and Rusl's porch, watching them, yearning to have that. She offered to take care of the youngest child so they could spend time with their first son, with Colin. She knew that Colin was still young, still needed the attention of his parents even though he'd done so much growing up in their time away from Ordon.

Her brow quirked as she watched them, their attention being drawn elsewhere suddenly. She followed their gazes, finding a boy walking through the town, his head down.

Link.

The bubbly chatter of the people silenced immediately, but none swarmed him like she'd expected, none approached him. They just watched with wide eyes, even the birds falling silent as he made his way towards Ilia, sitting on the porch.

Confusion showed itself clearly in her eyes as he sat down beside her, his gaze falling upon the child in her arms. She glanced from him, down to the baby girl, and back to him. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked him quietly.

He nodded once, a smile turning up the corners of his lips as he held out his hands for her. Ilia smirked, lifting the baby into his arms. "Like this?" Link asked.

"Mhmm, watch her neck," Ilia mumbled.

Link's smile opened as he gazed down at the little girl, his eyes half-lidded, his white teeth showing. He exchanged a glance with Ilia, "She's so tiny."

"Yeah, she is," Ilia said with a soft smile, her eyes on Link and the pure joy in his expression.

"She looks like Colin," he murmured, the dimple in the corner of his lips showing.

Ilia nodded, looking down over his shoulder at the baby, thoroughly enthralled in Link's eyes. She didn't laugh or cry or scream, but just lay in his arms, seemingly mesmerized.

Ilia glanced up then, to find nearly the whole village watching him from their various vantage points. They kept their distance, but watched him affectionately, not one of them speaking, not even to exchange words with one another.

So this is how they would welcome him. Not like the hero she knew he was, not like a celebrity. But like someone they loved, someone who had only been gone for a day. Someone they already knew was a hero for what he'd done for the children alone.

Like someone they didn't need to ask to explain.

* * *

**Alert, favorite, review... all of the above? :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everybody. Next chapter of this one, yay! I'm actually really excited. I've been thinking of this story a lot and I like what I have in store. So there's one scene where there's the italics and it changes to normal back and forth, the italics are Link's dream. This will likely make more sense once you get there. so yeah, do enjoy.**

* * *

He laid in his bed for days after. He had tried to get up multiple times, to go to work, to prove to his friends, the people he called family, that he was alright.

The first time, he'd made it to the front door before he'd doubled over, a cold sweat shimmering on his skin as he threw up what little there was in his stomach; mostly just water Ilia had tried to make him drink. She was worried he was dehydrated, that he was going to fall into illness if he wasn't taken care of.

The second time, he'd been climbing down the ladder from the loft when his vision became hazy, the rims of his eyes growing dark before he lost his grip on the rungs and collapsed the few remaining feet to the floor, hitting his head on the solid ground. When he finally came to, he didn't move. His mind was screaming at him, asking what was wrong with him, why he couldn't even manage to make it out the front door. He felt as though he was sick, completely ill and weak, though he bore no ailment.

There was something inside his head that was seriously wrong, he could feel it. But no matter what he tried, there was nothing he was able to do.

The third day he was absent from work, Ilia went to see him, her heart pounding inside of her chest as she hoped that he was alright, or alive for that matter. She had been trying to give him space, space to cope, to heal, but it had been near impossible. She'd stayed up late every night with tears in her eyes while she stared out her window towards his home, wishing that when she'd found him again, he would have been just the same as when he left.

But she knew it was the nature with lost things are, that when she found them again, they were often not how she left them.

His door was unlocked, just as it always was. Her vision was already blurred by the time she called out for him, seeking his face anxiously. She climbed the ladder to his loft with trembling fingers until she saw his face, on the same level with hers. His body had rolled off his bed, his eyes closed with his blankets twisted around him. She gasped slightly as she climbed the rest of the way, kneeling by his side and pressing her fingers to his lips, to his forehead.

He was burning.

"Oh no," she whispered, for a moment unsure of what to do as she swept his damp bangs off his face, "Link."

He didn't stir at her touch, didn't flinch.

She glanced frantically around, finding a glass of water on his bedside table. She scrambled back down the ladder to retrieve a cloth before returning to his side, dipping the edge of the cloth in the cup and mopping it along his forehead. His body tensed at the cold, something that relieved Ilia. When his eyes fluttered, she let out a deep sigh, one of the tears she'd been holding in escaping down her cheek.

He stared up at her for a long time as she continued to douse the heat, his forehead crumpled. "I'm so sorry," he finally murmured.

She swallowed heavily, swallowed back the ache in her throat, "No, Link. Don't be sorry."

He glanced around, even the movement of his eyes seemed labored. "Did I fall?"

"I guess so," she said quietly, touching her hand to his shoulder, "here, I'll help you back up."

His face distorted in discomfort as Ilia tried to heave him to his feet, just long enough for him to stumble back onto his bed. She sat on the edge, rearranging the blankets so they weren't constricting him and returned to the glass of water. His shirt laid on the floor once again after he'd started to feel the effects of his fever. Ilia touched the cool cloth to his neck and down to his chest, her cheeks feeling warm as he shifted uncomfortably under her touch from the shock of cold. "Link..." she began slowly.

He looked up towards her, a question in his glazed over eyes.

"I'm really worried about you," she whispered as if she was afraid to say it.

He didn't respond to her with words, but lifted his hand and covered the one that was holding the cloth, resting against his chest. Without taking another hint, she set the glass on his bedside table and laid down beside him, curling into his side with her hand still over his heart.

"Link, you're trembling," she barely said, her voice weak with emotion.

"I feel cold," he whispered.

She let go of the cloth then, reaching down to pull the blankets further up on him. He cringed away from them, the fever consuming his body making anything that touched his skin ache. "Do you think you're going to be okay?" she asked.

He nodded, "I'll be alright. I just need to rest."

She breathed out in relief, sitting up again to look down at him. But then she saw his eyes, how distant they were and she didn't want to believe him. She hook her head at him, her lips pressed together.

He saw the question in her eyes, his lips fidgeting with what to say. "No, I'm not going to be alright," he finally said, his voice breaking before he swallowed uncomfortably and continued. "I'm messed up," he said like he was admitting it, shrugging a shoulder though the declaration barely passed his lips, revealing how much it hurt to say.

She bit her lip before it could start to tremble and lifted her hand to his hair, combing through it with her fingers. "Everyone's messed up."

"Not you," he said gently, watching her face as she continued to wind her hand through the soft strands of his hair.

Her face softened as she slowly collapsed back onto him, her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, I am. I'm past messed up," she cried quietly, her voice strained.

His words didn't find his lips immediately. He listened to the strangled sounds in her throat as she tried to erase the hurt she didn't want him to see. The question that was begging to be asked was one he'd wanted answered since they were separated, and yet he hadn't found a way to ask. She hadn't found a way to answer. But now it was threatening to tear him apart. "Did they hurt you?" he asked.

Ilia's body tensed against his as she sucked in a squeaking breath, the result of trying to mask her cry. Her response was a simple nod against his shoulder. She sat up then, holding the side her hand just below her nose as distressed hiccups rocked her chest. "I—I have to go," she murmured before climbing out of the bed and back down the ladder, the door of his home slamming shut soon after. Link rolled over, facing away from where she'd disappeared and closed his eyes, trying to slow his beating heart, trying to quiet his mind long enough to fall asleep.

Ilia wandered for some time out by the spring where she was first taken, remembering the pain in her side as the arrow pierced her flesh. She lifted her shirt up a bit as she sat on the banks of the spring and ran her thumb over the scar, gritting her teeth at the disturbing memory. She tried desperately every day not to visit that place she'd woken up in, that state of mind that had consumed her. But it was difficult, even more so when she didn't have Link to distract her with trivial things like he once would have.

When she was young, Link and her had been playing in the trees, seeing who could climb the highest. At one point, Link had to reach down to try and pull her up when she wasn't tall enough to reach the branch he sat on. But she lost her balance on her tiptoes, and slipped, falling and breaking her arm. Link had sat beside her while Rusl was setting her bone and told her about a fairy he'd seen in the spring a few days before, and while his story didn't dull the pain, it distracted her enough. She missed him so deeply despite him being so close to her. She missed the boy that kissed her on the rooftop.

She shook her head, her brow furrowed into a frown. She hated letting it get to her. She knew that she would always be safe, and that he would be too, and so she hated crying about the past. It was just that, the past, and however much she wished otherwise, she couldn't change it. She blinked away the tears that were in her eyes and stood up, brushing off her pants and head towards her home, not stopping at Link's, not even looking towards his door.

"Ilia!"

Ilia glanced over to the voice that called out to her, finding Beth sitting on the gate on the way back into the village. "Hey Beth," Ilia said, slightly dazed.

"Where have you been, huh?" she asked.

She pursed her lips, knowing the suspicious look in Beth's eyes. Ilia could tell that since Beth's childhood, she had always had a sort of fantastical crush on Link. The evidence burned from Beth's eyes especially when Ilia and Link would walk together, when she saw them together after Ilia's memory had returned. "I was just by the spring," Ilia said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms.

"You said Link is back, is he?" Beth asked, one eyebrow arched.

She nodded. "Yeah, he is," she said though her voice faltered slightly.

"How come I haven't seen him then? Colin told me he's only come out of his house once, that he held his little sister. Is he inside?" she asked. Ilia let her eyes trail down to Beth's hands in her lap, wringing together nervously. Her heart ached a little for the girl that knew nothing of what was wrong with Link.

"He's resting," Ilia stated simply.

"I overheard Mom and Dad say he's depressed. Like, the depression makes him sick and so he can't work... Is that true?"

The back of her throat became dry, the insides of her stomach, twisting. "I don't know what's wrong with him."

"But there_ is_ something wrong... isn't there?" she asked.

Ilia shook her head, not wanting a reappearance of the emotion she was trying to escape. "I don't know, Beth," she said, her voice pleading for an escape from the conversation.

"I won't tell anybody, Ilia. I just... I'm scared for him," she said, her voice falling on her last words.

Ilia swallowed, walking towards Beth and climbing up onto the gate to sit beside her. When she spoke she didn't have to speak loud for Beth to hear, which is what she wanted. "I think he's seen some things he wishes he didn't. And I think he's sad for what he had to do. But then there's something... I'm not quite sure... it's like the look in his eyes when someone brings up his parents. Like he lost someone—someone important."

"Someone he loved?"

Ilia glanced off toward Link's home, her heart sinking, and nodded, "Yes. Someone he loved."

* * *

Short, quick breaths came from Link's nose as his muscles started to burn, sweat starting to form on his brow. With every exhale he pushed himself back up into a plank position, and every inhale he lowered his nose back to the ground in a pushup. He wasn't keeping track, counting how many he could do, he just wanted to feel the exertion coarse through his body, the rush of blood to his head, to his fingertips. It helped him focus on something else, even though he knew his body was already weaker since he'd come home.

He rolled onto his side when his arms were not physically capable of lifting himself once more, and looked up at the dust moats swirling above him. His hands rested on his bare stomach, blood pulsing through it with a quick thrum. Blood pounded in his ears, he could feel it pumping in his chest. It felt good, made him feel alive.

In the sun, the dust looked like the particles of light she had disintegrated into. Midna.

He missed her more than he cared to admit. At the same time he was angry she had left him like she did. But his anger didn't bear much weight, he wasn't able to maintain anger for her, for what she did. It was the noble thing to do, he knew that much, and the fact that he resented her for it made him feel very pitiful. Not the noble man he wanted to be.

No, he was just a boy.

He sat in front of his fire for some time, staring into the flickering of white and red and orange. It reminded him of her fiery hair, even the way it seemed to have no rhyme or reason, but just flew, flew farther than it would ever be able to reach. His eyes stole away from the enchanting fire to his numb hands, a cup of water in one, a slice of bread he had tried to force himself to eat in the other. When his eyelids started to droop, he climbed wearily back to his bed, becoming enveloped in the familiarity of his blankets, of the smell of his pillow. Some of Ilia still lingered there, it made it easier to sleep alone.

Night fell too quickly for Ilia. She didn't like the darkness of the world, she'd seen too much of darkness. She waited for her father's breathing to slip into the depths of sleep before she opened her window and slid onto the roof, unable to stay trapped inside when something so sharp was piercing her heart. What Beth had told her was nagging at the back of her mind, about Link being depressed. As much as she didn't want to believe it, she was beginning to think Beth's parents might be right. She knew that the others were saying it too, saying that something was wrong with Link. But she didn't want to give up on him. He never gave up on her.

She padded almost silently on bare feet through the village, up the path to his home under the grey blanket of cloud, the stars and moon shielded and making the night that much darker. _I just need to know,_ she tried to convince herself, _if he's sleeping, if he's okay, then I'll leave._

Her hands trembled. She was afraid for him.

_Link couldn't see, but he could hear. He could hear the awful howls of beasts lurking. These were the ones that took Ilia, the ones that took everything from him. A hot rage boiled in his stomach, crawled up the back of his neck as he searched out their gruesome faces, his body feeling heavy, disoriented. Just as one would fly across his vision in a flurry of beady red eyes, it would disappear just as quick. _

_ Then he heard her scream, Ilia. He began to run, though his legs felt like lead, never leading him in the direction he wanted to go. The crackle of fire surrounded him, and that awful, inhuman howling. He called out to her, but he still couldn't see. There was something in his eyes, pitch black nothing that kept her from him. One of them stood between him and her screaming, he lunged at it, beating it's thick frame mercilessly with his clenched fists, waiting until it's eyes rolled back into it's head before he continued on, crawling, struggling towards her. The air wouldn't fill his lungs, his body was burning._

Ilia opened the door slowly, her heart immediately stopping when she heard his voice, muffled and distressed, crying out as though he was in pain. "Link," she said to herself, her voice shaking as she climbed the ladder to his bed. His eyes were squeezed closed, his breath racing in and out, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. She put her hand on his cheek, his skin scalding beneath her palm. "Link," she pleaded again, "please wake up."

_She was so close, he could hear her so close. He tried to open his eyes wider, but still something was skewing his vision. He glared down past the faces of dozens of his enemies at a black heap on the ground just beyond them, her voice echoing from it. "Ilia," he said, though he felt like his lips were frozen, her name sounding strange from his mouth._

"I'm here," Ilia said, hoping, praying he was coming to. His muscles all tensed as he clenched the sheets in his fists, his back arching as though he was in severe pain. "Link, I'm here."

_She needed him, she was dying, they were killing her while he couldn't tell what was up and what was down. He lunged at the beast closest to him, snapping it's neck with a sickening crunch that twisted his stomach. She screamed again as he cried out for her, his hands finding the neck of another, his fingers squeezing tighter as it opened its mouth, unable to breathe. "Link," it barely managed to say. He clenched his jaw, gripping it's throat in his grasp tighter at the sound of his name. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to crush its windpipe. It struggled beneath him, its knees trying to shove him off but to no avail. It wasn't as strong as he was expecting._

_ "Stop..." it gasped._

_ But it wasn't that horrible voice._

_ It was Ilia's._

He blinked, his breath racing as he looked down, wide green eyes below him searching his face; panicked, hurt.

His eyes slowly fell to the scene that unfolded below him. Her hands grasped desperately at his wrists, her soft body pinned beneath his on the bed, one of his knees on either side of her waist as his hands clenched her throat.

He let go as quick as he could, the rest of his body too stunned to move as she gasped for air, coughing and crying, her own hands finding the red marks on her neck. She sobbed as he slowly pulled himself off of her, his hands held up like he wasn't sure if they were his own, his eyes wide at the horror in front of him. She pulled herself onto her knees, one hand still lingering at the base of her throat as she looked towards him, paralyzed with his back against the headboard. It was as if she was afraid he hadn't woken up, still gauging his reaction.

He slowly reached towards her. "Ilia," he whispered, unsure of what to do to comfort her.

She flinched away from him, her face tear-stained, lost to fear and sorrow.

He retracted his outstretched hand, covering his mouth as grief rocked through his chest. "I'm so sorry," he cried softly, "I don't—I don't know what happened."

Her eyes flashed over his face, her body trembling as she took in quivering breaths.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated before climbing off his bed and down the ladder. She swallowed, following quickly after him. She knew it wasn't his fault, that he was dreaming, but the initial shock hadn't allowed her to think that way.

"Come back," she tried to say, her throat aching, her voice small and strained.

He hesitated for just a moment at the bottom of the ladder, her plea breaking his heart. But he was so sick with himself, so disgusted that his mind could even conjure the dream that almost killed Ilia, that he didn't want to look into her eyes.

Because if he did, he'd see them as they were when he woke up.

Mirroring the disgust he felt for himself.

He continued towards the door, his palm shaking as he twisted the knob in his hand and shut it tight behind him. The abruptness of it all startled Ilia, she didn't realize what she was doing as she descended the ladder to keep him from going far. "Link!" she rasped out as she followed him out the front door to where he was untying Epona, "It wasn't your fault." She tried to hold onto him, gripping his arm in her hands, holding onto his shoulders, her fingers trailing down his back when he turned away from her. He didn't respond to her, barely even heard her as he climbed onto Epona's back. She grasped at Epona's saddle, walking beside her as Link steered her towards the forest, "No, Link, please. You were dreaming, I don't want you to go. Please don't go," she pleaded before he kicked into Epona's sides and disappeared into the woods with no light to follow him.

She ran after him, urgently screaming his name. "_Come back! Please come back, Link!_ It's not your fault, I—Link... I... Don't leave again, please don't leave again," she wept, her voice coarse as she watched him go with no sign of him returning, the silence of night breaking for her gasping cries.

* * *

Link didn't pay attention to the things he passed. He allowed Epona to slow down into a leisurely walk, but kept her moving, something he knew she wouldn't appreciate very much, but he needed to be gone from anything familiar. He wanted to be lost.

He passed through forests he'd never seen, along cliff walls and past the outskirts of the province he knew and was a part of, finding someplace new, untouched. Morning came slowly, precariously balancing night and day so that he barely noticed when the moon left him and the sun claimed him.

As the Earth came back to life, birds and insects alike awakening, his attention was drawn to a buzz of natural music, the underlying current of water nearby drawing him closer. There was a river not far from the path he'd been riding on, a place where Epona could rest, where he could try to sort himself out. He could tell his mare was grateful for the rest, eagerly lapping at the water and easing down to lay by the banks. Link rested his back against a tree, allowing his legs to give out so he could sit. He linked his fingers around the back of his neck, his head bowed and his knees pulled up to his chest. His heart was pounding, not giving up on trying to kill him by stopping altogether.

It made it hard to breathe slowly. He could have been crying if one didn't know better by the stuttered sounds of his breath.

His thoughts didn't stray far from Ilia ever. He wondered if she was crying, wishing for him to come back, or to stay gone. Or if she was thinking of him at all.

He felt something nudge his forehead then, warm breath on his face that evaporated the thoughts in his head. He glanced up to find Epona looking down at him, something like concern in the way she wouldn't leave him alone. He managed to smile for her, lifting his hand to touch her nose with trembling fingers.

She turned away from him before he could reach, snorting as she threw her head away from the river, anxiously trampling the grass beneath her feet.

Link narrowed his eyes, standing up beside her. Something was off, he knew that Epona could sense it too, that she felt it all around her. Though for him, all he could make of it was the smell; the smell of smoke. He climbed onto her back, cautiously urging her toward the smell, growing stronger and stronger, the further they went. Something was definitely burning.

He was coughing before he discovered what it was, the smoke around him thick, making the air hazy and hard to see very far ahead. He pulled Epona to a halt when it was growing too much for him, his eyes watering in discomfort. He tied her to a tree back where the smoke wasn't as potent and pulled his shirt over his head, tying it over her mouth and nose to filter the air for her as much as he could. He held a handkerchief in one of the saddle's pouches over his nose as he continued on foot, squinting as he tried to see through the smoke. He didn't think it was a forest fire, there was something chemical-smelling in the air.

It was farther ahead than he thought when he stumbled over something, tripping and falling to his knees without the aid of one of his hands to steady himself. He glanced back, his brow furrowed in confusion at the lump in the ground.

He crawled nearer, placing his hand on the bump in the ground, though the texture wasn't bark or earth, but like that of cloth.

He pulled back his hand, a crimson stain like the petals of a poppy on each of his fingertips. The thing he tripped over, wasn't a _thing_ at all. It was a person.

A gasp escaped his lips as he tripped over his hands, unable to carry him backwards quick enough. He stood on his feet, lurching into a run, his heart pumping hard, his mind racing until the smoke suddenly broke. The sky was clearer, the foliage of tree not retaining the smoke here, though white flakes fell before his eyes, and for a moment he thought it was snowing.

This was where one of Hyrule's newest settlements had been established, just a small town with younger couples mostly with young children, trying to create a new life.

And it was completely burned to the ground, ash trickling from the grey sky, the charred skeletons of homes and buildings not masked by smoke any more.

_Did it catch fire? Was there an accident?_ Link asked himself, finding no one to answer his question for him, just the crackling of what little fires were left in the leaves of the trees and the rubble of the village.

He stumbled forward through the eerily quiet of the forest village, searching for any survivors, any sign that they had evacuated, and found something far worse than his original assumption that there had been an accident.

There were bodies in the gravel roads, knives in their backs, arrows in their sides, limbs missing and all bleeding onto the brown earth, tainting it. Not just the blood of the men, but the blood of women and children too. One woman that lay collapsed on the ground, stared past him up at the sky with unseeing eyes, a stream of red-brown blood tracing down the corner of her mouth and down her neck. There was a bundle of white blanket in her arms, the blankets carrying a concealed child.

Link knelt down beside the deceased woman, peeling back the blanket to find the placid face of her baby. For a moment Link hoped that the child would be alive, but when he pressed his fingers to its neck, its skin was cold, and its pulse, absent. He couldn't see anything to say that the child was slaughtered like the rest, but it probably died from smoke inhalation.

He knew his body was in shock, not moving properly, and unable to process everything that was in front of him. He knew that was the only reason he could be so calm as he placed his fingers over the woman's eyes and closed them.

He tried not to look down at the little bodies scattered along the ground, particularly not again at the little girl—maybe five years old—that had her throat slit, as he hurried back to Epona. What happened here, it was like nothing he'd seen before.

It was a massacre. And he knew that whoever did it, couldn't have gotten far.

Epona ran with Link guiding her and didn't stop.

* * *

**So that was a bit traumatic. I'm thinking (since this theme will likely continue) I might change the rating to M for violence. Let me know what you guys think. I don't want to upset anyone.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyboooody. Ahem. Yes, slightly shorter chapter today. I just didn't want to drag, and to be honest... I just wanted to get this up, and if I would've kept going, it wouldn't get up until next week. Also! Fun stuff. So I made the cover for this story (yup, I took that obscure picture of that bird and edited it, thank you very much) and if you want to see it bigger, just head on over to leavenodoubt1432 dot tumblr dot com and scroll down to check it out!**

**So, I guess this story will lean more towards the mature side of the T rating. Watch out kiddos, there'll be some suggestive themes and some innuendos in later chapters, but nothing that would require an M rating in my opinion. Again, if it were to ever change to that, it would be because of violence.**

* * *

Ilia finished her dinner in silence, her head bent forward as if to hide the marks on her throat. There were still dents in her skin where his fingernails had bitten into her flesh, marks like bruises where his fingers had gripped her neck. She had gone home and tried to sleep after giving up on chasing him, slept with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, and when she'd woken, she'd put on a light chiffon blouse with a high-necked collar to hide what he'd done to her, a deep raspberry colored skirt flowing from her waistline.

It felt odd to be wearing such beautiful clothes when all she wanted to do was sleep in her bed and try to forget. These were the clothes she reserved for trips into town with her father, weddings, that sort of thing. Bo hadn't questioned her, only given her a curious glance as she brushed past him come morning on her way to Link's house.

Her heart was pounding by the time she reached his door, throwing it open with determination and calling for him. But all she was greeted with was silence. In her haste she hadn't even realized that Epona was gone, and that with her, so was Link.

Her composure collapsed, along with her in the doorway.

Which is why nearly an hour later after gathering herself and wiping her eyes clean of any tears, that she lied to her father and told him that Link was going into the woods for the day, to hunt among other things. He stared after her for some time when she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom to bury her nose in a book she wouldn't read. His daughter loved Link, he knew this much, but the extent of her love he was unsure, and wrote off her quiet nature when he left for her longing for him.

After she'd come home from Kakariko he noticed it; that the exuberant Ilia, the one that never kept to herself, the one that spoke her mind, yelled at Link for all he was worth, the Ilia that liked to laugh, had seen and done many things that quieted that laughter, and that while she was still there, she had changed. Maybe it was just maturity, but he wondered if she'd been thrown years ahead of herself, not ready for the change and yet unable to reject it.

"I'm going to see if Link is home yet... I'll come home in just a little while," she said softly, setting her spoon down into her bowl.

"Alright," Bo said gruffly.

She nodded once to him and picked up her bowl, along with his empty one and set them in the sink. She kissed her father's head before heading out the door.

Epona hadn't returned yet, and so neither had he. Panic surfaced inside her chest, suffocating her from inside as a chaotic pulse hammered through her veins. Had she driven him away? Was he too afraid to see her? She climbed the ladder to his home and opened the door, calling his name with dwindling hope. Again, there was no answer.

"Link, I'm sorry," she cried gently, the collar of her shirt feeling like a noose that was slowly getting tighter. She walked towards his couch and let her legs give as she curled into a corner, tearing at the buttons on her throat and down past her sternum until she felt she could breathe again, the constriction of the fabric faltering with each undone button.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her head against the back of the couch, determined to wait for him there until he came back. He couldn't stay gone for too long... he had to come home at some point. The boy that she grew up with wouldn't just leave without a word, he would at least come back to apologize to her, ask her to forgive him.

There was still light in the sky when she started to doze, her body and eyes tired. But when the gentle click of the door woke her, the light had faded and all that she could see were the silhouettes of his furniture, and the willowy silver of his hair in the doorway. Her heart started hammering away in her chest as she sat up slightly, his eyes having not picked her out of the shadows yet. "Link?" she asked for him lightly, her voice groggy.

His chin jerked up to seek her out, she heard his breath catch in his throat.

"Don't go," she said, letting the ball of her foot touch the ground should she need to follow him.

Thankfully he didn't move further away from her, but padded lightly across the floor to the window, the quick hiss of a match interrupting the silence as deep golden light overtook the shadow when he lit the candle there. He returned to sit on the other end of the couch, her foot drawing back up to meet the other. He didn't look at her, his eyes were down.

She swallowed, a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "Link..." she whispered.

Still his eyes remained downcast, though she could see the small muscles in his face, the one by his eye, twitching, his lips trembling slightly. "Link," she murmured a bit louder, "look at me."

"I can't," the words broke from his lips, his voice cracking.

"Why?" she asked, her heart breaking.

His eyes were on his hands, clenching and unclenching in his lap. "Because of what I did to you," he managed to say, but his voice barely held any weight to it besides that of remorse. "How am I supposed to know that it won't happen again? How can you?"

Her view of him blurred with tears, his hunched frame that seemed to bear an unbelievable weight. She noticed then that he still wore the same clothes from the night before, but he had a dark grey coat over top that he hadn't been wearing before. She wondered where he'd gotten it from. She pushed onto her knees, inching closer to him before taking one of his hands in hers, and uncurling his fingers before pressing his palm to her throat. "I just know," she said.

It was then that he gathered the courage to raise his eyes to meet hers. It was the first time he'd really looked at her since he stepped through the door, and her appearance startled him. First he noticed her swollen eyes, then the red marks on her neck, half-hidden beneath his hand. She was wearing rather formal clothes, and instantly he knew why. He knew that she must have been trying to hide what had happened, though now her collar was open…his eyes trailed further down, past her bare clavicle, her sternum, to the shadow between her breasts that was open to his eyes, the lacy trim of her bra barely peeking out from under her open shirt.

"I c-couldn't breathe with it done up all the way," she tried to explain as she watched his eyes fall to the open buttons.

Blood rushed to his cheeks as he averted his gaze, feeling disgusted with himself. He drew his hand from her grasp and turned away from her, his profile her only view of him now. She looked down and fit two of the undone buttons together, embarrassment lurking in the pit of her stomach. No boy had ever seen her like that, she wasn't even sure if any women had. And the whole idea of it was so... _improper_. She cursed herself for forgetting her immodesty before he came home.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as she watched him, his chest heaving as he took in a deep breath.

"I wanted to marry you," he murmured then.

Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, her throat felt like it was closing.

"...If all of it wouldn't have happened. If you hadn't been taken, if things wouldn't have happened the way they did. I wanted to get down on my knee and propose to you, and I wanted to dance with you on our wedding night. There were so many things I wanted to tell you... and now I don't know if I can," he whispered, his voice breaking off.

"Why?" she barely asked, her hands shaking, her mind rushing through too many thoughts to comprehend.

"Because I can't have you any more... and I hate that," he whispered, the last words slipping out under his breath.

He still hadn't looked at her, his chin down, quivering breaths being pulled in through his straight nose. She trailed her eyes down in despair, down the front of his shirt though her eyes paused momentarily on a flaw in the ivory fabric. It was a stain that looked like fingers had trailed down his shirt, the stain red-brown.

She touched her fingers to his stomach, her priorities rearranging. "Who's blood is this?"

He looked down to her hand, "I don't know... I didn't see their face."

Her eyes widened, "I don't understand—what are you saying?"

Finally his eyes returned to hers, but not before flickering to her neck again. He hesitated before speaking, "I... I found a village, completely burned to the ground. Everyone... I was checking to see if they were alive... I didn't know where else to clean my hands..."

Ilia covered her mouth with her hand, "What?"

"The country to the south... it's declared war against us, Ilia," he whispered, leaning his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands.

"How... how do you know this?" she demanded.

"I went to Castle Town," he mumbled, "after I found the village... to tell somebody, to ask for help... I don't know. But they were already preparing—soldiers in the streets, boys signing up. They already knew... and what's more is that they probably knew it was coming."

"Do you think... do you think they'll come here?" Ilia asked, a minute fear entering her voice.

"No. I won't let anything happen to you," he said.

"How can you be sure?"

He paused, turning to study her face. "Because I'm going."

She shook her head, "Going where?"

He swallowed, his voice quiet when he told her, "To fight."

There was a long moment of silence wherein Ilia tried to process his words, Link trying to read her expression, eyes flickering over her vacant face. She was trying to find out if there was any truth to his words, but his eyes were cold, completely serious. She covered her mouth and nose with both her hands, trying to fight the urge to scream. "You can't," she said, though it came out as a soft plea.

"I've already signed up, Ilia," he whispered.

"When? When are you leaving?" she asked, the fear seeping from her eyes.

There was a pause. "I report tomorrow morning."

The flicker of hope in her eyes was immediately snuffed as she hid her face in her palms, crying quietly to herself, sucking in ragged breaths as her shoulders shook. "Why?" she asked from behind her hands, begging for an answer that would ease her mind, disbelief still suffocating her, "Why would you join the army, Link? Why would you do this?"

He hesitated a moment, his tongue toying with what words to say. She watched him struggle with a broken heart, a sick feeling beginning to stir in her stomach. "Because I need to make things right," the words finally spilled from his mouth, some desperation in his voice.

A sob burst from her lips, her eyes squeezed shut. "Make things right for who?"

A brief flicker of a memory changed the face of the girl in front of him to that of another. Her skin giving off a luminescence in the fading light, she smiled at him for the first time as herself, not as the imp she was trapped being. He blinked once and she was gone, the memory fading as quickly as it had come. "For me," he murmured.

"I don't get how fighting is going to make things better for you," Ilia said, her forehead crumpled but her eyes narrowed with a hint of anger. "How will things be better if you don't come home?"

He shook his head, his jaw set tight as he looked away from her for a moment, "So many people have died already. So many people died during the twilight. And the Princess sacrificed so much, and I sacrificed, and you did too to make sure that the people we cared about were safe. There were a lot of people that gave up so much to make sure we were okay. And now I have to know that those people aren't going to be lost anyways. I have to know that what I did then wasn't for no reason. And how can I know that if I just watch? If I'm not doing everything I can to keep the people I love safe? To keep _you_ safe..." The heat in his voice died down, trailing off into a defeated whisper.

Ilia remained quiet, her shaking fingers pulling at a stray thread in his couch. He didn't speak much, and so hearing all of this from him hurt because she knew he meant it. She knew that this quiet, strong, isolated boy was careful with the things he loved. That he would go through anything to keep them safe. But still that didn't soothe the ache in her chest, the worry for him. "And if you don't come back…what then?" she asked, her voice just barely above a whisper.

His eyes fell then, his bottom lip between his teeth as he shook his head once. "I need you to understand why I have to go. Of all people…I need you to understand."

"Why?" she asked, stubbornly avoiding his eyes.

He didn't respond immediately, it seemed he was waiting for her to finally look up. When she did, she saw that his eyes had changed in the dim light, filling with shining tears. "Because I don't care what anyone else says or thinks... but I need you to be proud of me," he said, his voice faltering.

She lightly touched her fingers to his arm, one of the tears in her eyes falling straight from her cheek and onto the couch. "I've always been proud of you," she said, her voice raw.

He trapped her hand within his own and pulled her into him, cradling her head against his shoulder. Ilia sighed into his familiar smell, her rigid limbs melting into him as another tear fell, leaving a wet trail down her cheek. This boy she'd known since childhood was always slightly wary of human contact, of hugs or even a simple touch. But he felt so warm when he held her, his heart beating slowly as though she wasn't a separate person at all, but a piece of him.

"Hey," he murmured suddenly, drawing back slightly, "will you come somewhere with me?"

She looked up at him with big eyes, her lips shining like she'd just licked them, and nodded. One corner of his lips turned up gently, the closest thing she'd seen to a smile from him since he held the baby on the porch. He tugged her off the couch and out the front door into the quiet night, her bare feet treading silently through the tall grass as she followed him, her hand held tightly in his.

Something about the secrecy of night made Ilia feel better. Made her feel like her and Link were the only people awake in the world and what they said and did would only be theirs. Unbeknownst to him, she smiled at her fingers entwined with his and tried to suppress the thoughts of war and him fighting.

They arrived at the Ordon spring after a few moments, the gently lapping water glittering under the starlight. She followed Link as he sat on the banks, his knees pulled up with his arms resting on them. Ilia did the same as him, watching his face for some explanation. "What are we doing here?" she finally asked, wiping at the remaining moisture in her eyes until it disappeared.

He gazed at her for a long moment without answering her question as he reached over the small distance between them and ran his thumb along the white scar on her forehead. "We're sitting, just like we used to in the summer."

Her lips quirked into a smile, something tugging at the back of her mind though she couldn't put her finger on why that sounded so familiar.

Not until he began to lean in towards her, his eyes on her lips that she remembered.

_When we go back home, when we sit by the spring like we used to, will you kiss me?_

His lips brushed against hers gently, his hand trailing down the side of her face to below her chin. He moved slowly at first, his other hand settled on her shoulder while her fingers found the smooth curve of the back of his neck. His mouth was so warm, so intoxicating, enticing, she couldn't find a word that best described her desire to keep him there. Her heart fluttered at the light, stuttered sounds of his breath, as his desperate fingers pulled her closer to him if it were even possible. Her hands trailed tantalizingly down to his chest, her fingers hooking into his collar and his heart thudding steadily beneath her fingertips. This kiss was different than their first. While their first told the story of return and finding what was lost, this kiss told of desperation and longing and the unknown.

She let herself roll back onto her hips, her grip on his shirt taking him with her. He let go of her, bracing his hands against the ground when she laid with her back against the grass. He lowered himself onto his elbows as he nestled his face into her neck, kissing the red marks he'd left on her the previous night gently, her fingers in his soft hair.

He carefully caressed his nose up her neck and cheek until their foreheads rested against each other. Her heavy breathing mingled with his as she slowly opened her eyes, looking desperately up at the boy above her. "You're not going to let them win, right?" she asked, her heart still racing.

"No," he murmured to the beautiful girl pinned beneath his weight, "I won't."

She rested her chin on top of his hair after he leaned his ear against her chest, his earring cold against her feverish skin. "Tell me again," she whispered.

"I won't," he repeated for her.

"Again," the word barely passed her lips as she trailed her fingers lightly over his scalp and his ear.

"I won't," he said before he took a deep breath, his chest expanding against her stomach, "I won't."

She closed her eyes, her fingertips lazily drawing patterns up his neck and over his hair. She concentrated on the thud of his heart against her stomach, his smooth muscles fitting into the curves of her body as he laid between her long legs, the weight of him comfortable for her. "You _do_ have me," she finally murmured after a long moment of silence.

He lifted his head from her chest and looked into her eyes, a crease between his brows.

"At the house, you said you couldn't have me. But you already do."

He seemed to struggle with what to say to convince her that she shouldn't, his index finger lingering on her bottom lip. "I don't…_want _you to give yourself to me," he attempted.

Her eyes fell, utter despair drowning them. He rolled onto his side, waiting for her to follow him before he laid on his back, one of her hands splayed on his chest as she looked down at him in confusion.

"Ilia," he continued, knowing that she didn't take it the way he intended her to, "what I mean is that I don't want you to wait…I want you to live."

Her voice was thick when she spoke, and he knew she was trying to fight tears. She was always fighting. "Let's stop talking about it. Let's pretend like none of it will ever happen, okay? You're not going to leave, and you're not going to fight. And tomorrow we'll wake up and see each other, and we'll smile about what happened tonight. Right? Nothing will happen tomorrow. Let's just pretend that nothing will happen tomorrow," she pleaded softly, the pain in his eyes nearly palpable.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her nose, "Nothing will happen." He was willing to play pretend for her. She laid her head down on his chest, a tear slipping over her nose and soaking into his shirt.

"This is just like when we were little kids, right? We would play in the spring and then lay out on the grass until the sun dried us off and sometimes we'd end up falling asleep, curled up with each other..." she mused quietly, the hurt never fully leaving her voice.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"And when we wake up…it'll start all over again, won't it," she murmured, her eyes still closed as he studied her face.

He swallowed, finding it harder and harder to pretend. "Yeah."

"Thank you," she whispered, her brow furrowing over her sealed eyes, her hand that clenched his shirt tightening ever so slightly.

He didn't reply, just rubbed his hand along the length of her arm over his chest. "Ilia," he said a while later when she was about to slip beneath sleep.

She didn't make a sound and for a moment Link thought she was sleeping, but then a quiet hum came from her, a question in it.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked quietly.

"Mhmm..." she murmured.

He swallowed before he began, a tear trailing down his temple that she would never know of. "Do you think that…if, if two people are supposed to be together…do you think they'll find each other? Even if…even if they can't live in the same world? Even if one of them dies?"

But he wouldn't catch her response, because she'd fallen asleep. He sighed, wondering what she would have said, but unable to muster the courage to ask again. He eased her onto the ground before looping her arms around his neck, her consciousness wavering as he drew her into his arms, taking her back to his home to sleep.

* * *

"Help Link to be safe, help him to be able to be strong and help the young men around him, help him to be healthy. And help all the men that are fighting to win for us, for our country, for everything," Ilia said gently, her forehead pressed to Link's while their eyes remained closed, their hands clasped together between them. "Please keep him safe..."

Link opened his eyes then, Ilia's quiet prayer before he left, calming him. "Thank you," he said after she opened her eyes.

"I'll be praying for your safety every second until you get back," she told him fervently.

His lips quirked into a smile, "That's a lot of prayer."

"Praying in my heart, silly," she responded, slipping her hands around the back of his neck.

"I don't want you to worry constantly, okay? I know that'll be hard for you, because you're always worrying about someone, but I need you to be happy for everyone else," he told her, almost demanding it. He didn't want to tell the rest of the village until he'd already left. He didn't want to be convinced out of it, and holding Ilia the night before was almost enough.

"I'll try," she murmured.

"No, you will. Tell me that you will," he said.

She nodded, not trusting her voice until she'd swallowed back the anxiety, "Okay, I will."

"I need to go," he whispered.

She reached up onto her tip toes and pressed her lips to his. "Go," she said after she'd pulled back though her lips still brushed against his and she spoke, "and come back soon."

He kissed her forehead once before picking his bags up off the ground from beside him and slinging it over his back, turning towards the woods.

Ilia paused, reaching out to him despite the fact that he was out of range of her arm, "You're not taking Epona?"

He turned over his shoulder, "I don't want her to get hurt."

"So you're walking all the way to town?" she asked incredulously.

"That's why I woke up so early," he said, the sun still below the horizon though the birds were awake, already singing.

"Wait!" she called out to him as he turned to leave again. There was a longing hurt in his eyes when he turned to her again, like every time she asked him to stop was harder than the last. For a brief moment she wondered if she kept stopping him if he'd stay. "Let me take you. I can ride Epona back here after, and you won't be exhausted to start your training."

"You'd do that?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, untying Epona and leading her over towards him. "You're my best friend, I'd do anything for you."

* * *

**I'd like it if you reviewed, but if not, make sure you alert if you want to read more :)**


	4. Sawyer

I am uploading this message to all of my stories on this website in the hopes that it will reach a great number of you.

Tonight I found out that a boy I've known since childhood, died of drug overdose last night. Before any of you can begin to think that this is a ploy to get more readers or reviews or anything trivial like that, it's not. This is reality, and I have been sobbing for the past half-hour trying to come to terms with the fact that this is happening.

There was a point in my life where I was in love with this boy, where I could see myself marrying him. His family is very dear to me, his older brother and mine are best friends, I cheered with his younger sister, so though we grew apart and our lives changed, his family was still very dear to my heart.

In high school he started getting in with a different crowd than our group of friends from church, one that wasn't the best influence on him. It was still his own choice to do the things he did though, and those choices ultimately are what killed him. His family tried to get him into rehab, but this stubborn, rebellious boy I once idolized, wouldn't take it.

He was twenty years old. He was a great big brother. He loved his camera.

His name is Sawyer, and his sister found him after he'd been dead for twenty-four hours.

I beg you to not let drugs ruin the people we love, and ourselves. I don't care if you think nobody loves you and the only person you're hurting is yourself.

Don't give it a thought, don't hurt the people around you, don't hurt yourself.

Be safe.

Love you, Sawyer.


	5. Chapter 5

**So first of all, I just want to thank everyone that messaged me or left a comment about Sawyer. It was very touching to me, and I just thought I should pass on the message that his family is doing really well. Obviously there is a heartache that won't ever go away fully, but they are coping the best they can and I know that your prayers are part of what is helping them get through this. I also want you guys to know that I adored every one of your messages, and cried reading every single one. Thank you all so much.**

**so, this will probably be the last update in a while since I'm heading out for a month long vacation on Saturday :D I'm super excited as I'm going to be roadtripping all around the west coast of the United States. I'm keeping a blog for it, so if any one is interested in keeping up with my adventures, the blog is at:**

**aboutbeingatourist dot tumblr dot com**

**Also, at the very end, there is a line inspired from one of my favorite movies, The Village, so yes. This is me saying that I didn't make it up... It just worked so perfectly with the scene, I think I changed like one word. Deal with it. This story will never be published so I think we're in the clear. Oh, and I barely edited this, so I'll get to that probably tomorrow. I'm lazy, and I want you guys to read.**

* * *

The only words Link could say to Ilia before they entered a clamoring mob of people, were; "Stay close to me."

She did as he said, grasping his hand with one of hers, the other holding onto his arm while he led her and Epona through the crowded streets of Castle Town. There were shocking masses of young men in armor, their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, lovers and children holding onto them for as long as they could. Ilia's heart started hammering at the thought that soon Link would be lost to the throng of people, that she would be left behind with the sobbing women and fatherless children.

The further into the crowd they went, the tougher it became to hold onto Link without being pushed or shoved around, but he didn't let go of her. The men were to be checked in at the great door in front of the Princess's castle, and proceed to the courtyards. Ilia only knew a fraction of what happened after that; they would be checked for ticks, disease, washed down, receive tags so they could be identified should they not return alive. And then they would leave for camp where they would train, learn to wield a sword, fire a cannon, shoot an arrow—where they would learn to kill other boys just like them.

Epona's reins were suddenly tucked into Ilia's hand when their feet stopped moving, and Link spun her to look at him. They stood just outside of the tall door, they had reached the back of the line where the other boys waited. "Okay... Ilia, you need to listen to me now, alright?"

She just nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I need you to do something for me. I need you to hold on. No matter what happens to Hyrule, what happens to me—don't you dare let go. You need to be there for our family, you need to take care of them, because they need you more than you'll ever understand," he spoke in a low rush.

"Okay," she whimpered, the sheer intensity of his voice causing her to tremble, her eyes to fill with tears.

"Promise me, Ilia. Promise me you're not going to lose," he begged her, his voice faltering.

Her heart was breaking, and it took every ounce of her determination to not plead him to stay, or to tell him that she was afraid of what he was asking her. She took in a sharp breath through her nose, an attempt to restrain the sob in her throat as she leaned in towards him, burying her face within his shoulder as her arms wound around his waist. She nodded against him, agreeing to his demand.

He encircled her shoulders tightly in his arms, nestling his face into her neck and breathing her in, shutting out the chaos and the noise. Everyone in the square disappeared except for her, and her soft, quick breath in his ear. For a moment he closed off his mind to everything but that sound, and silence fell about him, peace. But as soon as he had to pull back, the noise and pandemonium slid between them once more.

He leaned in close to her and pressed his lips to her forehead, before dropping his chin to whisper few last words that only Ilia would hear. Her eyes were wide as she nodded at him, holding his last words close to her heart. Their hands found each other, fingers twining together for as long as they could manage as he walked away, before they slipped apart. Everything felt like it was shaking to Ilia, her whole body felt unsure on the ground where she stood as she toyed with Epona's reins and watched the back of the boy she loved disappear behind the door.

* * *

Link swallowed back a thick lump in his throat after being shoved past registration. The courtyard was a mess of terrified young boys, nurses and doctors probing their tongues with wooden sticks, checking their teeth, combing through their hair for lice. Most of them sat in just their underwear as they were inspected, a poor boy having a tick burned from his back. The boys were doused with freezing water, scrubbed with bristly brushes to ensure they didn't carry any disease with them. The whole thing seemed a bit pointless to Link, but in that hectic moment of being shoved towards the line of nurses, he didn't pay it much attention.

He was sat down at a bench where a kind young woman was waiting to inspect him. She had dark hair that was spun up into a tight bun that her nurse's cap sat above, and her deep brown eyes searched his face with sympathy. She held one of the sticks in her hand, her other cupping his jaw. "Open, please," she said with a thick northern accent. Link did as he was told, though he nearly gagged as she pressed the stick down on the back of his tongue, peering inside his mouth. "Good," she said with a soft smile a moment later, "no cavities, no swelling in your throat."

He cleared his throat as she removed her hand, allowing him to close his mouth. He tried to swallow away the unsavory taste but it still lingered. She took a comb next, sifting through his fine hair for any of the little parasites. After a nod of approval he moved on, but not before she could add a quiet 'good luck'.

The next person he met with didn't have quite the same soothing effect on him. He was a brisk older man with stocky shoulders that only spoke three words to Link: "Remove your clothes."

Link glanced at the row of boys doing the same, some with more bashful expressions like his own than others. He could already feel his cheeks turning red by the time he reached for his belt buckle, taking it off so he could pull his tunic and undershirt over his head. Removing all his clothes in front of masses of people wasn't something he normally did, nor was he accustomed to. He pulled his boots off with shaking hands and then slipped his breeches down to his ankles before stepping out of them and shoving his clothing into one of his packs. As soon as he'd stood back up, the impatient man had seized Link's arms and forced them out to his sides, sliding one boot in between Link's bare feet and parting them to shoulder-width. Link tried to keep his breathing steady as the man inspected his sun-browned skin, searching for any ticks. Link gazed over the man's shoulder as he inspected his stomach at a line of boys just to their right, patches over their reddened skin after having their ticks removed. Link prayed he wouldn't fall victim to it, cringing as he stared at a man with a stick clenched between his teeth, preparation for when they removed the bug from his skin.

The grim man grunted once in approval and nodded towards the next area, watching rigidly as Link scooped all of his things back into his arms, trying not to step on anything sharp. He shuffled forward with the rest of the group of clean boys, their heads hanging low as though in shame, shame at being stripped of their clothing.

"It's a bit cold this time o' year for this dress code, dontcha think?" a voice suddenly said.

He whirled around to find the source, wondering if the question was aimed at him to begin with. He found a man with dark brown hair and stubble on his jaw just behind him, his green eyes alight with curiosity and excitement. He was the first person today that hadn't seemed the least bit uncomfortable. Link glanced at the boys around him, taking little to no interest in the question before answering. "A bit, yeah."

"I guess it could be worse, they could be checking for ticks on our arses, yeah?" he asked, grinning a crooked smile.

"True," Link agreed.

"M'name's Johnny," he said, outstretching his hand for Link.

"Link," he said in reply, shaking his hand once.

"An' why does that name sound familiar?" Johnny asked, eyeing Link suspiciously.

He attempted to shrug it off, unsure of what Johnny would say if he knew the truth. "Popular name?"

He laughed, "Nope, that can't be it... but no worries mate, I'll figure 'er out soon enough." Link just nodded, hoping that he wouldn't, but unable to do anything but smile at Johnny's enthusiasm. It was refreshing when compared to the agitation everyone else was exuding. He nudged Link a moment later, directing his attention to the boys dripping wet from head to toe. "I only hope that when I'm getting scrubbed down, that I get a pretty one... though my girl would probably hate me for saying it."

Link could only agree as he neared the group. Some of them were young nurses with pretty faces, however the majority were older men like the one that had checked him for ticks, and older, hard-faced women. Johnny was unfortunately quicker to react than Link, and dashed ahead of him as a slot opened—a slot with a gorgeous blonde nurse waiting. Link was pushed over to the silver-haired woman next to her.

"Brace yourself," the woman said, her hand lingering on a lever that would release the water spigot above him, one in a line of many with a long water trough built above their heads. Every now and then the water would splash over the sides when it was pumped from the well, splattering their frigid, muddy feet. "It's a tad cold."

And then she pulled the latch, the groaning of metal on metal the only warning before Link's breath was stolen from him—the water was a bit more than a tad cold in his opinion. He sucked in a shuddering breath as it continued to glide down his body, drench his hair and cause his muscles to tense sharply. He forgot then that he was practically naked, forgot that he wasn't decent in any matter, all he wanted was for it to stop, for the cold to stop. Nothing about what was happening to him seemed human, but more like he was an animal unable to speak. He briefly thought of the ranch back home, feeling much like one of his scared, bleating goats.

She released the lever after a moment, the water slowing to a trickle then cutting off altogether, though the bitter wind was little better than the water, numbing his skin until the bristles on the brush the woman used bore little feeling against him.

"Be grateful," the woman said, though not entirely as cold as he would have expected. There was an ounce of warmth, of sarcasm in her voice. "You'll be sitting in the mud for who knows how long. This could be your last chance to be free of filth."

Link could only nod, his chest trembling from the cold, he didn't trust his voice. Goosebumps rose on his flesh, his fingernails and feet almost blue, lips purple. His whole body shook, trying to urge his blood to flow.

"Do you have yourself a girl back home?" she asked him, obviously trying to carry on a conversation. This portion definitely took the longest thus far.

He hesitated for a moment, and nodded. "Y-yes Ma'am," he replied, his teeth chattering slightly.

Her hand stopped moving though it took Link a moment to notice that her brush had paused. She propped a knuckle beneath his chin, forcing him to look up at her and he wasn't sure why, but her weathered old eyes changed then, a ghost behind the watery blue.

"Think of her often."

* * *

The sun was highest in the sky when Ilia found Ordon again. She wasn't entirely sure how she got back, but trusted that Epona knew where they were going, her mind gone somewhere far away. Eyes followed her on the way back to her home, though she didn't return any curious glances, nor did she stop to explain. She wasn't sure how to do what she knew she must. Link had given her a difficult task; to be the bearer of sad news.

Her father was waiting at the kitchen table with a letter in his hand. She could see the emotion behind his eyes, how he was straining to hide it. "Where did you go?" he asked her, his voice a deep grumble.

She swallowed, her voice coarse when she spoke. "Into town."

"Do you know?" he asked.

She shifted from one foot to the other, unsure if they were thinking of the same things. "'Bout what?"

He lifted the letter from the table then, the Royal Hylian symbol stamped on the front. "Postman came by this morning, the Queen's messengers have been sent all over the country. Hyrule is going to war."

Ilia nodded, hoping to disperse the tears in her eyes, "Yes, I did know."

"Were the soldiers in town? Preparing to leave?" he asked, his usually soft eyes growing hard in their disbelief, his fingers turning the letter over and over in his hands.

She nodded again, "I took Link there."

His hands paused, his mouth falling slightly agape. "What?"

"I... he didn't want anyone to know before he left so that no one would try and convince him out of it... and I tried, believe me I tried my hardest," she began, her voice faltering as she glanced down, not wanting him to see her damp eyes.

The arms of her father wound around her moments later. She gasped slightly, not realizing he had stood up, and paced quietly over to his hurting daughter. Her gasp turned into a soft sob, all of her desperation to be strong through this, to do what Link said completely eroding under the embrace of her father. "Is he gonna be okay, Dad?" she asked him.

He let out an unsure hum, though he continued to reassuringly rub her back, "I think it's hard for us to judge someone's fate in a thing like war. But I do know that whether he lives... or is less fortunate, that he will be okay. I want to know that he'll come home to us again, but... if things are different, he'll be taken care of."

Swallowing back the anxiety balled up at the base of her throat, she nodded against his shoulder, his words reminding her of what Link had whispered to her just before he'd left. Though as much as she wanted to take comfort in it, she hoped beyond all belief that she would never have to lose him at all.

She stepped back, wiping her thumbs below her eyes before giving Bo a weak smile. "Would you tell the others?"

"Yeah, of course," he murmured, laying a big warm hand on her shoulder.

She laid her hand on top of his. "I'll be back in a little while," she told him, slowly slipping away from his reach

He let his hand drop, not wanting to question her motives or the place she would be. Deep in her eyes, something was missing, a piece of her that waited on the boy who kissed her on the rooftop. Bo knew that the piece of himself that belonged to his daughter couldn't compensate for Link's, so he watched her go from the porch, watched her try to find something that could, while knowing it was impossible. But he couldn't tell her that, he wouldn't let her replace that hollow space with a black hole.

Ilia followed the path to the only place she could find some solace. She climbed to his home, opening the door quietly to find everything put away, untouched, his bed made like he'd been gone for years. Meandering into the kitchen, she took out clean dishes and put them on the counter, on the table, filling glasses a quarter full of water. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and crumpled it into a ball, carelessly tossing it into the corner of the sofa. Suppressing the ache in her chest at the sight of them, she pulled out his clothes, hanging them over the end of his bed, let them fall to the floor. She laid his old weapons on the ground like he'd discarded them before falling into bed after a long trip.

Then she peeled back his quilt, stuffing pillows beneath it and hanging his old green hat he'd left behind on the bedpost. She crawled into the bed, draping an arm over the pillows. She didn't cry after that, because her mind told her there was no reason. For now she would convince herself that the silhouette hidden beneath the blankets was him, that he'd just come home from a long trip, and he would try to convince her that he'd clean the house tomorrow, though they both knew he never would.

* * *

Link gritted his teeth together as the man finished printing his tag number onto the inside of Link's forearm. It stung and the skin surrounding the five numbers was red and irritated. Link had never been tattooed before, but the only feeling he could relate was when he got his ears pierced. The pain wasn't to the point where he couldn't handle it, but where it was difficult to resist the urge to itch.

The man handed him a chain with a thin piece of metal hanging like a pendant. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, finding the same numbers on his arm.

"One to keep around your neck if you come home without your limbs, one to keep on your arm if you come home without your head," the man said sarcastically.

"Thanks..." he muttered, pulling the chain over his head to hang around his neck. He pulled down his sleeve and continued on in what he was beginning to relate to a cattle line, the armory just beyond where he stood. While some of the armor was his own—his sword and shield, gloves and boots, much of it was provided by the army. He stood patiently while the armorer eyeballed his stature, handing him what they thought would fit.

Link began to wonder how some of the boys managed to walk. The chain mail all of them wore was heavy, not lightweight like the shirt of it he woke up wearing at the Faron Spring. The links were thick, dense metal, their weapons blunt. Link sat on a bench away from the majority of young men that required help dressing in the awkward clothes as he strapped on his leather gauntlets, settled thick padding over his shoulders and around his neck. Then he slipped the new tunic they'd all been given over his head, the material the dark Hylian blue, the crest of the Triforce on the front in red.

His movements felt labored as he buckled his belt around his waist, strapped his shield and sword onto his back, along with his pack of clothes and the few personal belongings he brought with him inside it. The chain mail felt almost unbalancing on his head, so he slipped the hood of it down to his neck, his head feeling bare without the hat he wore throughout his journey. It had become a safety to him.

He was grateful to be clothed again though despite the lack of comfort, he was grateful that his hair was finally drying and that his pruned fingers—at one point unable to bend from lack of blood flow—were finding their way again. He didn't anticipate the cold nights outside with much enthusiasm, didn't look forward to burying the men he fought beside in the icy ground after they'd frozen to death. But he knew that was part of war. That many would die. He had already accepted that it might be his fate, too.

Many of the men around him would die by the hands of another, he was sure of that, knew that he might be among them. That much he knew he couldn't change because it wasn't up to him. But he knew he wouldn't let the cold consume him, let despair drive him to madness, lay down his life when he couldn't move another inch. If there was anything in his power he could do to live, he would find a way to do it. He laid a hand over the center of his chest where there was a bump in the fabric, something around his neck just beneath the tunic. Hidden from the eyes of his comrades, of his enemies, was Ilia's charm she'd given him that night he kissed her first, and it was what would remind him of her face when hope wasn't high.

"Doin' alright there, boy?"

Link glanced up, startled to find a man in front of him though relieved when he recognized the face. It was the one of the man that spoke to him in the courtyard, Johnny. "Yeah," Link said with a nod, dropping his hand from the horse call.

Johnny sat down with a heavy sigh. "I swear I'm going to fall through the floor with all of this on," he said, gesturing to the armor and weapons that cloaked his frame.

"I'm hoping it'll get easier," Link told him, returning to absentmindedly adjusting his gloves.

"I don't think this whole thing will ever get easier," Johnny said, "but I think you have to be a little crazy in the head to be doing what we are, yeah?"

Link couldn't help but smirk. Yes, that described him perfectly: a little crazy in the head. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"Look at all of 'em. They're scared outta their skins," he said in a hushed voice, eyes scanning the crowd of boys equipping themselves. "They can't be older than, what, seventeen? Eighteen? Well, how old are you?"

"I just turned eighteen," Link replied quietly, trying to avoid memorizing the young faces of the boys like him that might not make it.

He could see Johnny turn to stare at him from the corner of his eye, though he didn't ever return the look. "You're serious," he stated, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you taking a pretty girl out at night to go skinny dip with 'er?"

Link laughed, though he couldn't deny the flutter in his heart at the idea. His face sobered quickly enough when he realized he couldn't. "Because if I'm not here, then maybe my town will be next to be pillaged, and maybe that girl won't ever get to go skinny dipping."

Johnny paused another moment, and Link could feel the place on his chest just below Ilia's charm burning. "Did that girl want you to come here?" he asked.

He finally looked up, hoping that Johnny wouldn't see the transparent longing in his eyes. "No," he said, shaking his head once.

"You don't look scared, did you know that?" he asked Link, a muscle in the corner of his eye twitching slightly. He could tell by the lines in the corners of his green eyes, the consistent stubble on his jaw that Johnny must have been at least twenty-five. Far older than Link, though there was something in that minute movement in his eye that caught Link off guard. He knew it well, he saw a lot of it before he came home. It was fear.

He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes away from what he saw in Johnny's. When he spoke, his voice was soft, "I don't worry about what could happen, only what needs to be done."

* * *

**Just FYI, if you have a tick in your skin, don't try to burn it out. That is not right, but this is the process people used to go by, so that's why I put it in like that.**

**Thanks guys! See you in a couple weeks :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow, sorry this took so long. Summer is a hard time to write, I get out of my schedule and travel makes things crazy and yeah, you get the deal. Well, it's super hard writing about Link and Ilia being apart, but I did the best I could so I hope you guys don't get bored. Also, last thing, the part about Link happens before the part I wrote about Ilia. Hope that makes sense.**  
**Also! I have a reviewer that I would really like to thank, but she doesn't have her own account, so I have to do it here. I hope you guys don't mind!**

**Hylian Ballerina! When you reviewed Memento it made me soo super happy. And I was so bummed that I wouldn't get to thank you, but when you reviewed here, I knew I had to hurry up and get this chapter out so I could! Your words are so kind and literally made me smile so big. I'm so happy you feel such a connection to the characters through my stories :) Also, thank you so much for your thoughts about Sawyer, it doesn't seem fake at all to me! It's just incredibly touching. I definitely teared up while I was reading your thoughts.**  
**Also, I hope you're holding up with your boyfriend being gone, I know what it's like to be so far away from someone you really care about. And I'm sorry I made you cry in Memento haha. Anyways, you should create an account so I can thank you better!**

* * *

Ilia waited with all the patience she could muster on her front porch, elbows resting on her knees, chin resting in her palm, legs bouncing nervously. Her father had tried to distract her that morning because he could see the anxiety flickering through her eyes at dinner the night before, it scared him how bloodshot they were that morning. Uli and Rusl watched from their porch as Uli cradled her baby, Rusl helping Colin carve a sword. They had almost gotten used to the idea again that Link wasn't there to greet Ilia in the mornings, as they had already had to swallow the fact once before. But it didn't ease the pain in their hearts as they watched that girl who loved him so much worry herself sick if only for the mail, for word of him.

Her eyes flashed to the rising sun, whispering to her the growing daylight, and the passing time when the mail should have arrived. The same thoughts always spun through her mind as she waited: what if there is no mail because he isn't alive? What if there's no mail because the postman was killed? But every time he would come, and she would think herself silly for worrying.

He had been gone for close to three weeks now, most of which she knew was spent training and so the threat level wasn't as high, but still she worried for him, prayed for him.

It was always a torturous game watching the postman make stops at all the houses before hers, make small talk with the other villagers, taking more time than Ilia could bear. Today wasn't any different. She gasped and stood up immediately as the familiar red-capped man walked into town, so leisurely wandering up the worn paths to his various stops. She paced frantically to try and slow her racing heart, mumbling irritably about how long he was taking before he finally stopped at the road leading to her home.

And he wasn't going fast enough for her. She raced down the pathway to meet him and held out her hands eagerly before she could realize how ridiculous she must have looked in her haste. She curled her fingers back in and swallowed away the tight feeling in her throat. "Is there... anything today?" she asked him with forced politeness.

He nodded, fishing around in his bag while Ilia sighed in relief, though there was still that knot in her stomach that warned her it could be bad news.

"Here it is," he said, holding out a crinkled envelope, her name on the front in his writing.

"Thank you," she said fervently, grasping the letter with shaking hands before tearing it open without another word. She unfolded the yellow paper and tried to hold her hands steady so she could read the few sentences on the page.

_Ilia,_

_Your writing makes being so apart from the world much easier. The other boys are jealous, they don't get mail half as often as I do._

_I wish I could tell you more about where I am and what we've been doing, but our mail is monitored should it be intercepted by our enemies, so I can't say much._

_But I am doing well, the days are long and difficult, but I'm managing._

_Do you remember that winter when we were kids, and I fell through thin ice? You pulled me out. I feel like you're pulling me out when you write me._

_Tell the village I miss them all._

_Link _

She tried not to feel disappointed that there wasn't more, but she did know that he had little time to write her, and that the things he could say were carefully watched. She folded it back into a square and placed it in her pocket before turning with glassy eyes back to her home, climbing the stairs to her bedroom once she was inside. She remembered it clearly, the fear in her heart as she pulled him from the water with strength she didn't know she had. That part made her smile.

Opening her drawer, she pushed aside her clothes and tucked it away into the corner where there were a small handful of notes from him, only three with the addition of the one in her pocket.. She drew out the most recent letter, softly grinning as she recalled the words written inside the crinkly folded paper.

* * *

Link was startled from sleep by the blaring of a trumpet. He winced against the unpleasant noise, beckoning him to wake and emerge from his tent into the cold, snowy morning just outside. Every morning he was tempted to smother his ears with his pillow, and every morning he bit down on that urge and pulled himself up. He could feel himself getting sick from the cold nights, the lack of protection from the exposure, his throat sore, his chest tight.

Pulling on his boots, he glanced down at the letter he'd received four or five days ago from Ilia, the most recent from a small stack he kept carefully aside in a leather pouch. This one, however, remained open by his bed roll, the moisture from the ground making the paper curl and ripple, the ink smudge, but thankfully he could still make out her words. A ghost of a grin passed his lips as he shrugged into a thick coat and left what warmth was maintained in his tent for the outside world.

He silently walked to the tent next to his, the snow crunching beneath his steps and pulled the flap open to peer inside at the person still fast asleep. Smirking slightly, he knelt down and scooped snow into his hand, cupping the other one around it until it made a misshapen sphere. Then, with barely any effort, he tossed the snowball inside at the man, still softly snoring—that is, until the snowball splattered into the side of his face.

The man sat upright like a bolt, Link already turning away as a small string of profanities echoed from the tent. He was surprised that Johnny hadn't learned just to wake up by now, since Link had discovered almost twenty different ways to wake him in a more creative manner. A puff of steam drained from his cold lips as he chuckled quietly to himself, reporting to the training field in the blue light of an early morning, the sun still hidden behind tall mountains. When he was told that the army they were battling against was to the south, Link had imagined humid jungles, even arid deserts. He hadn't expected that they'd be taking their compound to the height of the ice-capped mountains beyond Death Mountain, beyond Hyrule, to train, while a smaller company of the Princess's royal guards were sending them information from within the enemy territory.

They preferred to train the men in extreme conditions, with thinner air, more obstacles, and the mountains provided security from spies.

He was quickly joined by dozens of other boys and men, all with the same worn expressions on their faces as they waited in line for breakfast, tin plates and bowls grasped in their red fingers. They all muttered to one another, but Link just stared ahead with his cold blue eyes as he always did, and waited quietly.

The food made him miss Uli more than anything, the woman that was responsible for many of his meals growing up. The men working as the kitchen staff weren't the Princess's chefs by any means, and so breakfast usually consisted of a ladle-full of watery oatmeal, the likes of which Link had first turned his nose up at. But as the days grew on, longer, fuller in training, and colder the higher they climbed, he welcomed anything warm that would provide any sustenance.

Even on his journey he had been fed relatively well. There were days when he lacked food, went without meals, went hungry. But when he would return to Kakariko on some days, Ordon on others, but mostly to Castle Town, there was always someone who would willingly feed him. Telma had always offered him a spot at one of her tables.

He bowed his head as he ate, trying to eat slowly so his stomach wouldn't grow upset. Within the first couple days, he had been among the boys retching along the string of travelers from the food, his stomach not used to the odd array of ingredients meant purely for nourishment. He tried to take it easy, remembering the embarrassment as he wandered away from camp in the dead of night so that the other soldiers wouldn't hear him gagging.

Suddenly his face was dipped into his bowl, a hand on the back of his head and giving it a quick shove downwards. "That was a nice piece of ice yeh hit me with this mornin'," a familiar voice said as he sat down on the log beside Link.

Link slowly turned his head to his right, the oatmeal on the tip of his nose and splattered up into his eyes. "Are you happy now?" he asked Johnny, squeezing his eyes shut.

He heard Johnny snicker as he used his sleeve to wipe off Link's face. "Sorry, boy," he said, "but you had it comin'."

He waved it off with a slight grin, "Yeah, I know."

"Who cooks this crap?" Johnny mused to himself as he stirred the unappetizing clumps around with his fork, "I want to know why we're protecting the Princess but we're not eatin' like 'er."

Link shrugged with a grin, used to all of Johnny's complaints. But something about it made him feel like this place was filled with real people, not a prison, not a slaughterhouse, and they weren't animals. He liked to be reminded of that as often as possible, because there were times when he felt no better than an animal.

"Mail!" somebody called out then, Link's head snapping up at the announcement.

"Come on," he murmured to Johnny, nudging him with his elbow as he stood up, dumping the rest of the food on his plate into the snow.

"I swear, Link. If you get another letter, I'm going to write Celeste and tell her she's not doing a good enough job," he said, hurrying after Link as he trudged forward quickly, "I mean. My girl writes me maybe once a week, but yours, how many letters has she written you now?"

"I don't know," he said, keeping his eyes straight, "around ten."

"But then you get letters from probably every person in your village, my own sodding _parents_ don't even write me!" he said, exasperated.

"They don't write me often. And you have Celeste, that's a lot more than some of these guys can say," I remind him.

"Sure, sure," he mumbled, waving him off as they met with the edge of a mob of people, holding out their arms and waiting to hear their names.

"Link!" they called out after some of the men had cleared away, letters in hand.

Johnny dropped his arms by his sides, gawking after his friend. "Seriously? Do they think they're never gonna see you again or somethin'?"

Link tried not to take his comment too seriously.

He retrieved his letter and flipped it over to find Ilia's name on the front, his heart contracting slightly at the thought of her face. It was hard for him to admit how much he missed her, missed her taking care of him and holding him when it felt he was about to fall apart. Johnny's name was called soon after, and he joined Link where they sat for breakfast as they mulled over the words from their loved ones, the whole camp falling quiet. He wondered if that's why the people back home were so desperate for word, if they truly believed that they would never see him again.

His name was the first thing he saw at the top of the letter as he unfolded the paper, and he imagined the way it would sound on her lips if she was to say it right now. Something just below his heart, where his ribs came together started to burn, a longing to hear it.

She wrote of home, of the harvest. It was strange for him to think that the summer had passed and that the leaves at home would be turning gold and falling soon. And after, the rainy winters would come, maybe snow. Link and Ilia had always hoped for snow during the winter months, so they could build forts out of the sticky flakes before they would melt. They loved the snow then, but now, after living in the mountains where the snow was powdery and the air was brisk, he had started to hate it.

The letter was tucked into the breast pocket of his coat when he reported for training, and having it near him helped get through the chill of the morning and into the afternoon. Though, the day didn't continue with the same promise as it started with—their company general had decided to relocate to the pine woods on the other side of the frozen lake they camped on the banks of. Because of the jagged cliffs on one side of the lake, and the waist deep snow drifts on the other, the only possible way to reach their destination, was to cross the frozen-over lake.

As dangerous storm clouds came nearer, it was apparent that their unprotected camp wouldn't do, and so with the bitter wind the only thing to motivate them, they packed up their belongings, weapons, and tents to cross.

He was at the back of the group, hesitant to step out onto the groaning ice. When he was small, he'd fallen through thin ice when he and Ilia had decided to take to the barely frozen pond by their homes, he hardly remembered it now, but he would never forget the cold. The anxiety of the younger boys was thick, and while Link wanted to hurry ahead beside Johnny, and be the one of the first ones across, he waited with the others and tried to reassure them.

The first wave of men was just reaching the middle of the lake when Link's toes reached the ice. Their general had them crawling on all fours to spread their weight, to be sure they wouldn't fall, but even then the fear lingered in the back of his mind. He eased himself forward onto his hands and knees, the ice burning his exposed fingers and he wished he had worn his gloves, but there wasn't anything he could change now, nowhere he could go except forward. His heart was hammering, his breath moving in and out so quickly it barely made any steam. The lake was so much larger than it appeared, especially being so low down, and the men so far ahead of him were still far from the other side. The whole thing made his arms shake as he crawled, slowly, paralyzed by every minute crackling sound.

Just as they were reaching the center of the lake, he started to feel more comfortable, the end was in sight.

And then he heard a loud crack.

He, along with the boys around him, froze, glancing over to his left to find the source.

Beneath the knees of a boy just beside Link, the ice was splitting, fine white lines like spider webs fanning out towards the other men.

The boy glanced up towards Link, sheer panic on his face, eyes wide, breath racing.

Link could see his rigid fingers itching to move forward, to escape the freezing water that awaited him. "Don't move," Link warned, his voice quiet in fear of upsetting the ice. "Don't move... I'm... I'm coming over there." The others didn't move, just watched as Link inched anxiously over to the paralyzed boy, his frame trembling. "It's okay," he continued, "I'm going to help you."

The other boy didn't even nod, just watched with the same terrified eyes as Link moved closer and closer. Link paused where the cracks in the ice had stopped, reaching slowly behind him and removed a tent pole from the top of his pack, and carefully reached the other end to the panicking soldier.

Link breathed out in relief as the boy's hand grasped the pole, his heart still hammering away. "Okay, now I'm going to pull you back in, okay? If the ice breaks, just hold on, and I'll pull you back up."

With the slightest more confidence, the boy nodded, pulling himself along the pole slowly but steadily. "That's good," Link encouraged, "keep going."

He listened, the air around them quiet, even the wind dying out to leave the two men in utter silence. Their comrades just watched with fear of breathing, leaving the two in peril behind was not even an option.

"Almost there," Link murmured, if he reached out, he could touch the collar of the other boy.

And so he did, his fingers curling around the coat collar and tugging gently to help him along.

He could feel the sigh of relief from the other man on his face, and Link gave him a halfhearted smile.

But it was wiped clean by the groaning of ice between them. Their eyes met in a single moment of panic, before the ground beneath the boy fell.

Link couldn't think of anything else to do, but to hold tightly onto his collar, following him in as his weight towed Link into the ice water.

There wasn't even a moment for him to catch his breath as he plunged into the water, the air stolen from his lungs by the frigid lake. He didn't remember the water in Ordon being this cold, couldn't remember this sort of pain in every part of his body. For a moment he was too disoriented to do anything, too panicked. But then he tried to think for a moment, could feel the kicking feet of the other boy stirring the water, and knew that he had to do something.

He blinked, opening his eyes to try and find the young soldier. Everything around him was dark, but then above him was a pillar of light, sunlight that managed to stream in from the hole they'd broken in the layer of ice. And there was the struggling boy, kicking and grasping at the edge. Link only hoped that the others were coming to help as he pushed his sluggish arms towards the other boy, helping him to break the surface.

And then the boy was pulled from the water, leaving Link alone.

Everything was so heavy, it was almost impossible to swim, but he tried, his chest aching for air.

Reaching up towards the surface, he remembered falling beneath the ice that time before. Everything was so similar, that the details he couldn't even remember came rushing back. Being unable to move, to see anything except for the piercing sun through the water, seeming like it was so close but knowing that it was farther away than he could reach. And struggling, reaching, trying to breech the surface but never finding it.

Then there was a hand... reaching down towards him, his salvation.

He reached one last time, grasping their fingers, and forgetting everything else, relying on that hand to save him.

And then he tasted cold air on his lips, arms around him.

"Oh, Link..." he heard.

But it wasn't the voice he had expected, it was the voice of his best friend, of Ilia.

And her face was only eight years old.

And for a moment, he was in Ordon, and the sky above him was blue.

Ilia held him close, cradling his shivering body and nestling her red nose in his wet hair. This was different than what he remembered. He remembered her screaming for help, trying to tow him towards shore. But now she just held him close to her warmth, and touched her palm to his frost-bitten cheek. "You have to wake up now," she whispered.

He shook his head as best he could, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes. "I can't," he tried to say, his throat aching.

"You can," she murmured, clenching him tighter as he laid helplessly in her lap.

His eyes fell closed, a shuddering breath slipping from his blue lips, he didn't want to, he wanted to stay there with her.

"Wake up."

* * *

Ilia sat on the edge of the dock, her feet dipping in the water even as the deep blue clouds rolled in, and the glassy surface of the pond was disrupted by rain. The cool air felt nice, especially after such a long day working with the goats, cleaning and caring for them. She'd always been better at taking care of the animals than churning their milk into butter and cheese. That was why she loved to take care of Epona when Link wouldn't, and why she loved to take care of him when he wouldn't take care of himself.

Maybe it was what she was meant to do, she thought as the rain started to patter on the top of her head, and then on her face as she lifted it to the sky. Maybe she was meant to take care of people. She sighed as she leaned over to wash her feet off thoroughly, her tendency to not wear shoes sure didn't help especially when she was working for most of the day. She didn't see the point in running a bath just for her feet to be clean, so the pond had worked for her. She remembered back when she was just a little girl and the cold water barely felt different than hot water, that her dad, and probably her mom too, would take her down to bathe in the waters of the spring, or the pond, it didn't matter. She just loved being in the water.

Link had told her that they'd go down to Lake Hylia some time, so she could swim as far as she wanted, but that was before the Twilight, and that was before war, and that was before she didn't want to swim unless it was with that person that promised to take her. She had only seen Lake Hylia from the bridge, and then it had seemed to menacing from so high up, the waters dark and crowing birds circling overhead. And then she hadn't remembered the boy who had promised to go there with her.

Some things she still had a difficult time remembering, even things her father and the others would bring up. She had learned to nod and go along with it though, to avoid the worrying. There was always so much worrying over her when there shouldn't be.

She tried to remind herself of this when she worried for Link, that he wouldn't want her to.

"Ilia!"

She turned quickly and stood up to find her father calling from the front porch.

"Come in, you're going to catch a cold!" She rolled her eyes but offered him a smile as she jogged over to her home, ducking under the door. "Isn't it getting a little cold to not be wearing shoes?" he asked her.

She laughed at him, for once the worry not weighing her down so much that she felt she couldn't laugh. "As soon as the snow comes, I'll wear shoes," she told him, "I'm... I'm going to go write Link."

"Tell him I hope it's warmer and less rainy wherever he is!" Bo called after her as she rushed up the stairs.

She would, because she hoped wherever he was, he was safe and warm, though there was a sinking feeling in her heart that doubted it. She looked over the words in the last letter he wrote about falling through thin ice, and though it had been him in the cold water then, and not her, she knew what he felt like. She felt like she was holding onto the edge of the ice and waiting for him to come pull her up, and tell her that it's all over. She wanted him to tell her that they'd both be safe just like she had told him as they tried to warm him up inside her house beside the fire. And above all, she didn't want to have to fix him when he came back. Because she knew he would come back, and that reassured her.

But she knew when he did, that he would be beyond fixing, ruined by the things he saw.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone. Bit shorter chapter than usual, but I didn't want it to drag and I thought it ended at a decent place... and I'm the author so what I say goes. **

**Thanks again for the reviews everybody :D Makes me so happy.**

* * *

They knew in their hearts that he would die.

He'd been exposed to the cold for too long, as they dragged him the rest of the way across the lake on a makeshift sled of someone's cloak. The other boy that fell was suffering too, trembling violently though he was still conscious. When they'd finally made it to the other side, all of Link's comrades had rushed to make a fire, to get him out of the remaining wet layers he'd been left in. His blue lips were parted slightly, his face placid, ice crystals clinging to the ends of his hair. As their doctor pressed his ear to Link's pale, cold chest, he could barely distinguish a heartbeat.

"Get him blankets! We need to warm him up!" Johnny had been shouting, but most of the boys were too shocked to move, to do much except stand and watch their still companion. His skin was startlingly white, appearing as though all the blood had drained from him, he looked dead, most of them thought he was.

They were more concerned with the boy still breathing, crying out for someone to help him, and through the nights, the long and painful nights, crying out for his mother back home like a frightened child. It was hard for the younger men to listen during those exhausting nights when his pain was so intense, because they felt much the same, wanting their families and their mothers.

Johnny was sometimes grateful that Link was unconscious, that he wasn't suffering like the other.

Link felt as though he was dreaming the whole time, and he was always in a white field. He could see her often, wandering through the tall, stark grass that would have reminded him of home if it were gold like in the Ordon fields. Though he considered it every time, he never called to her, and she never turned her head towards him. Sometimes he would see a wolf with her, running by her side, its fur gold and shining in the iridescent air. Unlike her, the wolf would look at him with it's sharp crimson eyes, it was the only thing that ever noticed him. The wind in the white fields never whistled, the birds never called, and in all the quiet, he could just hear her whispering as though she was standing right next to him. "Wake up," she would say.

"Wake up."

Finally, as he watched her, he felt something change, the white grass turning green, and she was getting further and further away though he could still hear her voice. And the fear of losing her, watching her walk away entirely, shook him. So he listened.

He opened his eyes, yellow canvas over his head, a warm lantern by his foot with thick blankets wound around his body. His core still felt chilled, fingers and toes still battling numbness, and there was a coarse ache to his throat where hadn't been before. He tried to shift, move, but found his limbs to be slow, though with enough effort, they would move for him. Sitting up was a chore, but he managed, realizing as a brisk wind slithered into the tent, that under his blankets, he was almost naked.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to clench his tingling hands into fists, and felt as the tingling turned to a sharp prickling, his fingers and toes frost-bitten. His ears and knuckles were red, the skin shiny and sore, and each of his toes was wrapped in a damp bandage, not hot, just lukewarm.

There was a small stack of clothes beside his bed roll, a tunic, pants, and undergarments. And there was a rippled envelope sitting atop them... Ilia's letter that had been with him when the ice had broken. But his attention was drawn away from it as one of the tent flaps was drawn back, and the doctor walked in with a kettle of steaming water. His first reaction was a gasp, though he quickly hurried to Link's side. "You're awake," he said breathlessly.

Link made a sound in the back of his throat in response, somewhere between a relieved sigh and a pained groan.

"I was just getting more warm water, for your frostbite," the doctor said.

He narrowed his eyes, grimacing at the thought of his throbbing fingers in the hot water. "How... how long was I asleep?" he managed hoarsely.

"Hmm," the doctor murmured as he poured some of the water into a bowl with a cloth in it, waiting for it to cool, "about five days... you were in and out."

"I don't remember that," he mumbled, his only memories were of the dreams.

"You would only come back for moments at a time," the doctor said.

Link swallowed, "Where's the other? The other boy that fell?"

He sighed, wiping the back of his hand across his brow once, eyes never meeting Link's. "He died." The doctor's voice was weak, still laden with recent emotion, and Link was suddenly aware of his beating heart, suddenly feeling it racing inside his chest. "He caught pneumonia... died shortly after."

The naked boy looked down, feeling more vulnerable than before without his clothes, jaw opening slightly in shock as tears welled in his eyes. The last time he cried he'd been in Ordon, saying goodbye to that girl. "Why did I live?" he asked.

He could hear the man next to him swallow, "I don't know."

It was the only answer he would receive.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?" the doctor asked, carefully studying the set of Link's shoulders, the pain in his creased brow.

"Ink," he replied, glancing at the envelope before switching his tired gaze back to the doctor, "and paper."

* * *

"Who do you think he is?"

Ilia shook her head, analyzing the man up and down as she sat on the porch, Beth on one side of her, Colin on the other. Talo and Malo sat on the steps. "He's a stranger," she finally replied.

The man stood on the other side of the bridge, talking to Bo with a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder, a blade at his hip.

"He's from the army, he's wearing the Hylian crest," Malo muttered to the others as if they were daft for not noticing. Ilia narrowed her eyes at the observation, a fluttering in her heart beginning to fill her thoughts with dread. If he was from the army, could he be bearing bad news? Her attention veered from the man to her father, looking for any sign of worry, remorse, but his face was hard to read, eyes set like they were in thought. He nodded as the tall man spoke, arms crossed over his chest.

He was taller than Link, broader in his shoulders, but not bulky by any means, Ilia noted. He must have been a good few years older than herself. In his mid to late twenties. He caught her staring once, and she glanced quickly away with burning cheeks.

"Do you think we'll have to leave?" Talo asked, a flicker of fear in his green eyes, "Do you think the bad guys are coming to get us?"

"Don't be stupid, Talo. I got a letter from Luda the other day, and she said that they have soldiers all over Kakariko too," Beth said, though it seemed to Ilia that Beth was trying to justify it to herself as much as the younger boys.

But her comment did pique Ilia's interest. "Why?" she asked, "Did Luda say why?"

Beth made a disinterested sound of dismissal, picking herself up from the porch and towing Colin away with her by his wrist. Since they'd gotten home from Kakariko, Ilia had noticed that Beth had a small obsession with the naïve boy, and in some ways, it reminded her of Link and herself as children. Beth, so stubborn, assertive, and loud, Ilia thought with a grin. And Colin, so quiet and reserved but driven.

As she directed her attention back to her father and the stranger, she saw that they were coming nearer, him a step behind Bo as they crossed the bridge. Ilia stood from her spot, straightening her shirt as the other children hurried off, and waited with one hand clasping the other wrist. Bo greeted her with a straight face as the other man fell into line with her father. "This is my daughter, Ilia," Bo said. Ilia bowed her head gently, brushing a foot back in a small curtsy. When she glanced back up, she noticed his hand extended towards her. She felt her eyebrow quirk and immediately regretted the lack of facial control before she handed her palm to him. He lifted it briefly, lowering his chest if only slightly though his eyes remained locked on hers. "This is Captain Vincent," Bo continued.

"It's a pleasure," he said, and his voice was soft unlike Ilia had expected.

"He and his comrades are being deployed throughout the country, to send information back to the Queen," her father said rather stiffly. She wondered where it was coming from, the lack of warmth in his voice.

"He will be staying here," Ilia stated, rather than asked.

"Yes," Bo said.

"Might I ask, where?"

His eyes fell, "Link's home is the only vacant one."

There it was, the source of the tension. He knew that Ilia would resent the idea, and she did. He hadn't died, his home wasn't empty and nor would it ever be. She hoped that it would someday be her home as well, and she wouldn't hand her home over for a stranger to use _his_ things and move _his_ clothes. The hat that still hung on the bedpost wouldn't be put away.

"It's not vacant," Ilia said, her voice near a whisper though there was still a sharpness in it.

"No?" Bo inquired gently.

"I thought I would stay there," Ilia said suddenly. Though she had stayed there a few times when missing him became incredibly hard, she hadn't thought about moving in entirely until that moment, "To take care of the home until he returns."

Her father glanced sideways at the captain, "And where shall our guest stay?"

"Our home," she suggested, "my room won't be used anymore if I'm staying at Link's. And Mr. Vincent should find our home more comfortable than his would be."

"Would you show him there?" he asked his daughter.

"Of course," she replied quietly, turning over her shoulder as she heard that man's footsteps fall behind hers. In silence, she wound her way up the stairs to the room that had been hers her entire life, realizing that she would have to clear it out for this stranger.

"Please forgive me, Captain," she began, watching as he stood cautiously by the foot of her bed, "I'll need to pack my things before you can settle in."

"You... you can start calling me Kael," he said then, "I'll be here for a long while."

She simply stared back at him, acknowledging him with silence.

"It's my name," he said, an uncomfortable laugh behind his obvious statement.

"I'll take my things," Ilia said, a blush creeping into her face as a thought struck her. This man was confined to her village for who knows how long, and she was the only woman remotely close to his age. She pulled a canvas bag from one of her drawers and began scooping her clothes and few belongings she cared enough about into it. "Good day, Mr. Vincent," she said as she stepped past him on the way to her home.

Link had never missed that home as much as he did while shivering in the doctor's tent. He wasn't sure how the other men were coping through the blizzard, being forced to train in such extreme conditions. When Link had tried to grasp his sword, to lift it for battle, a pain had clutched him and the blade had fallen from his hand. He had become very familiar with the doctor's tent now, with the ongoing treatment for his frostbite. Fifteen minutes soaking in warm water, which seemed excruciating at first, and then fifteen minutes bound with damp bandages. His hand looked like a club at times with all the wrappings.

Johnny visited him when he wasn't needed elsewhere, Link always waited for those moments for someone to talk to.

He knew it wasn't just the frostbite though that was preventing him from training like the others. Through exposure he'd picked up a chest cold, and while all it seemed to him was a little discomfort, everyone feared what happened to the other boy, and so they kept him inside.

He found out that boy's name was Raimi. But he only learned that after he had died.

Their commander only visited once, when Link had finally woken up, so when he stepped out of the cold and into the tent, Link hoped that he might finally be released. He sat up on the bed roll, unsure of what to do with himself until the other sat himself at the doctor's stool. "Link," he addressed him stoically.

"Sir," Link replied, voice wavering slightly.

"I know that it kills you to be trapped inside here while the other boys work," he began.

Link could only nod.

"There's a task I need done, just a small company of men, and since you're still recovering, I thought you might lead. We'll be heading out to the front soon, we need more supplies to last us until then. I need you to go back into Hyrule and retrieve them," he said.

"Back into Hyrule?" a flutter kicked up inside of his chest at the thought.

He responded with a simple nod before continuing, "You will depart on the morrow, take the day to get down the mountains, camp there for the night, then arrive in Castle Town the following evening. You will take the day to prepare, and leave the next morning, meeting us at Kakariko Gorge before we continue on."

"I understand," Link said quietly, the thought of being back home if only for a day made his thoughts race, what if he could see her?

"I'm sending my best men with you, the ones who have completed their training already," the Commander said through a grunt as he stood up, turning to leave.

"Sir," Link said abruptly, stopping him.

He turned over his shoulder, waiting for Link to go on.

"I... I've missed out on much of the training, are you certain that I'm fit to leave before I've completed it?" he asked.

The other man let out a heavy sigh, resting his hands on the hilt of his blade at his waist. "Link, there are many in Hyrule that do not know your name, there are an even greater amount that do not know your face... But all of them know your story, and what you did. I know who you are, Link, even if you won't openly admit to it. And I know what you've done. No amount of training could prepare you for the things you did, but you did them. So yes, I am certain."

The young man swallowed, he hadn't known for sure if anyone knew that he was the one the others still spoke of during dinner. But here, one of their highest ranking officers knew, and he hadn't shared a single word of it to the others, hadn't ever singled him out during training.

He decided to trust him, "Could I write to someone? Tell them I'll be in Castle Town?"

A ghost of a grin touched the Commander's lips, "I'm sorry, Link. Your girl will have to wait. The post won't reach her before you're already gone."

* * *

There was an empty drawer he had cleared out when he left. That is where she put her clothes. Her books on top of the dresser, her mirror and comb there as well. She sat down on his bed and breathed in the remnants of his smell. Soon they would probably be gone the more she settled in.

It was an odd thing, living alone. When she had slept there before, in her mind, he had been there too, and so it wasn't as if she was by herself. But now, without her father downstairs, or dreams and memories to lull her to sleep, she felt very isolated. She ate dinner alone, washed the dishes alone, went to bed alone. It hadn't even been two months, but she was waiting anxiously for the day this war would end already. The day Link would come back to her for good.

Her sleep was restless, too many thoughts in her mind clamoring for attention. Her body was too hot, then too cold, and there was no comfortable spot. She would drift in and out and startle herself awake whenever she came remotely close to sleep. Fatigue tormenting her, she sat on the edge of the bed and cried at one point, her face in her hands as she pleaded with the Goddesses that she might find some solace, if only long enough to fall asleep.

Soon it became hard to discern what was dream and what was reality, and even the sounds of the house creaking and shifting, the winds outside bringing something with them, weren't enough to shake her. She let them become part of her dreams, she allowed those sounds to become a part of her mind. So when she heard her name, it was just part of a dream, a memory of someone dear to her. But he persisted, louder, louder, until soon the barrier burst.

The room was still dark, night still thick. But she was no longer alone though it took her a few moments to find a face in the shadows, to convince herself she'd woken.

"...Link?" she dared to ask, her voice only a whisper.

"Yeah," he replied just as quietly.

An aching sob, hushed by the sleep still in her throat, sounded from her lips. She sat up abruptly and threw her arms around his neck, fingers snaking over his shoulders and back, making sure he was all there, and that he _was_ there—above all she had to know he was real. "You're here, why?" she asked, her eyes still wide in shock as she found his soft hair. It was just like it used to be, though her fingers caught in tangles and knots. It was longer now.

"We're picking up supplies from town, I stopped here to get some of my things," he murmured, and his voice sounded just as surprised as hers.

She found her way to her knees, holding him tight to her still. "Oh Goddesses, I missed you," she said breathlessly. He kissed her neck, smooth lips but his face was scruffy with facial hair he used to always shave. She didn't mind now, even against the sensitive skin he was paying attention to. "Are you alright?" she asked, just to reassure herself, "Is everything alright?"

"I'm okay," he said, his voice vibrating slightly against her skin. "Why are you here, Ilia?"

"There's a soldier in town, I didn't want him to stay here. So I am," she answered as his hand wound up into her hair, tousled from sleep.

He laughed, a pure sound she hadn't heard for so long, "Well I'm glad I came home to you in my bed and not a strange soldier."

She couldn't help but join. Here he was, her best friend, the boy that kissed her on the rooftop, laughing like he used to. War, and separation had made her heart grow fonder. "When will you go back?" she asked him, a pit in her stomach knowing that the light mood would soon disappear.

He swallowed, she could hear it clearly. "As early as I can in the morning."

She breathed out slowly, rubbing his back, their embrace still held fast. "What time is it now?"

"It's very early," he said, "a few hours before sunrise."

She pressed her lips delicately to the side of his head, burying them in his hair, "Are you tired?"

"Yes," he whispered. He didn't try to hide anything, he hadn't slept for many, many months. Before the war, before he returned. He found it hard to remember sleeping well. The pain in Ilia's stomach turned to fire, fear of what he'd been through already and what he would be. It was hard for her to grasp how difficult everything he'd done must have been, but she knew with certainty that though he laughed once, his heart was heavy. Her fingers continued to trail delicately between his shoulder blades, feeling his breath against her, and she wondered what heartache he suffered, but she feared asking.

She let go of him slowly, cautiously moving her hands down to his belt and began to tug at the thick leather. Her only intent was to make him more comfortable, so he could lay down and rest his weary eyes. Link knew as she let it clatter to the floor, moving next to his gloves, that she was always trying to help him. He pulled the navy blue tunic over his head himself, leaving him in the white undershirt and pants he'd traveled in, clothes worn and soft through all their use, that he found comfort in them.

They nestled themselves beneath the blankets, Link reveling in the feeling of a real bed, the feeling of a soft mattress beneath his back rather than his bed roll on top of snow. And he drank in the warmth, the warmth of having another body next to his. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming here?" she asked him moments later.

"We were told on short notice... there wasn't any time," he told her.

"Dad said that you might get leave, time to come home. Will you let me know when you're coming home next time?" she asked as she curled into him, finding one of his hands laying by his side with hers.

Her hand felt so warm against his, the frostbite almost completely healed so that hers didn't make his burn, it only felt good. "Yeah."

She leaned her forehead into his chest, eyes feeling heavy, "Are you a dream?"

"No," he said, all seriousness in his voice, "I've dreamed too often. I've become too familiar with my dreams. But this... I never can hold you in my dreams."

She shut her eyes against the tears budding in them and shook her head slightly, "Me neither." As if to show her, he lifted his hand away from hers and cupped her cheek in his palm, his index and middle fingers cradling her ear, his thumb tracing the hollow below her eye. She held his hand there, settled hers on top of his wrist. "Link... were you hurt?" she asked, sorrow in her voice.

He thought of falling through the ice, he thought of his red, blistering ears that were just starting to heal like his hands and feet, that she couldn't see in the dim light beneath his hair. He thought of shivering through the nights, being beaten down during training, and he thought of Raimi, young Raimi who had died of pneumonia.

But then he looked at the girl in his arms and it was so hard to tell her what really happened. The same way she had struggled to tell him anything of what happened to her, and why she still hadn't, he didn't want her to worry more than she already did.

He shook his head, "No."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys. Thanks for being patient. Here's the next little bit. I guess the only thing you need to know for this chapter is that I made Telma's Bar into more of a tavern type place, with an inn above the bar. I think it could work. Also, after discussion with a reader, I decided to change Vincent's status from 'General' to 'Captain.' I changed the last chapter already, but if you notice it again at the end, you're not going crazy. That is all. Read on.**

* * *

It was at night when she saw those horrible faces. The ones she would only see glimpses of in firelight as they passed by her cell, giving her scraps of food or a tin of putrid water. She hated those moments, yet craved them, the few moments where she would see some form of light. Otherwise, it was always dark. Pitch black, not giving way to silhouettes or details of any kind. She cried so hard those first few nights in the cells, cold and hungry and going mad from the utter darkness. And then there was the hole in her side, roughly patched to stop the bleeding from the arrow they'd shot her with.

She shivered through the days and nights—they blended together, she never knew which was which—shivered through the film of sweat that covered her body from the pain.

The dark was never her ally. When she was young, she liked the cover of darkness, liked the peace. Now she hated it. She hated dreaming, and seeing their faces, seeing the red eyes, and hearing the growling of their voices. But she was finding the longer she lived back at home, the longer she could sleep without being disturbed, and the more she was around him, the easier it was.

He didn't sleep at all that night in fear of oversleeping and being late for his task in Castle Town. He would wait for the sun, but no longer. But he cherished every moment in his home. He held onto the warmth of her body, and the smell of her hair. He could see that her sleep wasn't calm; her brow furrowed while she slept, small sounds of despair coming from her lips every now and again. Her hands would grasp at his shirt, curl around his arm, and his stomach would clench as he waited for the sun, and wished it would never come up. He was content to stay in darkness with that girl forever, smiling to himself at his old hat she'd hung on the bed post.

It didn't surprise him that when he sat up as the first pale blue light started spilling over the trees, she woke. Her shallow sleep was easily broken as the bed beneath her shifted, and as soon as their eyes met, he could see in hers, longing. "When will you come back?" she asked in a hushed voice, still quiet from sleep.

"I don't know," he said as he turned from her, planting his feet on the cold floor and holding his face in his hands though he couldn't bring himself to stand.

She sat up and laid her hand on his back, tracing her fingernails gently over the broad surface. Then she rested her face against the hollow between his shoulder blades and took a deep breath. "I'm going to be okay," she whispered. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, such a steady sound.

"I know," he said, and his voice rumbled against her ear, "you're stronger than most boys. Braver too."

"Not every boy," she murmured, turning and pressing her lips to that spot she had been resting against.

His shoulders stiffened, the ache in his heart to hold her was suffocating him. "You're braver than me, Ilia." He needed to leave, she said she would be okay, but there was something that stayed his feet. "All that I ever did was only because I had to... only because of you."

It was silent for a moment, a moment in which she heard him swallow, waited for him to stand, though he didn't. "He does not need bravery because he does not fear," she said softly then, her voice distant.

His brows knitted together, "What?"

She laid her ear against his back again, tracing the seams on his shirt with her fingertips. "It's something my dad told me once about you. It was that summer we learned to horseback ride, and it came so easily to you, you weren't afraid of falling off, of getting hurt. I asked why you could do it so easily, while I struggled and struggled. You do not fear," she reiterated.

"He was wrong," Link said, "I fear the consequences of giving in. I fear them every second."

"Then why did you learn to ride? What was the consequence?" she asked.

He sucked in a stuttered breath then, like the air was suddenly becoming thinner. And then the sound of his heartbeat was whisked away as he stood up. "I have to go," he said, and then added, as though it was an after thought, "I'm sorry."

She watched in painful horror as she realized this was it, that he was leaving again for what could be forever. But nothing could be forced past her lips, she watched in silence as he picked up his clothes, putting them on and then taking a step towards his bag. Moments ago, his side of the bed had been warm from his body, but now it was already cold. All the while, his back was turned to her, and she was scared by what she might see if he turned around.

He paused, bag in hand, and took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. Ilia could feel a tightness in her throat, making it hard to breathe or speak or do anything. But as she got to her feet, standing up and cradling her arms close to her body against the sudden cold, she managed one word. "Link."

She expected a simple response, though she didn't know what she would say to follow it. Maybe 'good luck' or 'be safe.' Something easy. But he didn't speak. He turned, his eyes so soft in the dim light, his lips slightly parted, and dropped his bag by his side. Ilia tried to process what he was doing for a split second before he crossed the space between them and cradled her face in his hands, claiming her lips with his.

He was urgent, moving furiously as she fought with where to put her hands—first on his wrists, then his face, next his chest, then down to his waist as she pulled his hips flush against hers. A quiet sigh escaped his throat, though there was something so hopeless about it, like she was causing him an immense sort of pain. No, worse than pain, torture. Like she was torturing him.

Their hands switched places, hers finding his jaw and his gripping her hips tightly, not allowing for any space between their bodies. His tongue soon found her lips, and Ilia's soon found his, her body trembling as he continued to move his mouth against hers. Her fingers became lost in his soft hair, though he became less insistent, gentler, and she could feel his body quivering.

She drew back though only slightly, brushing her open lips over his mouth and briefly against his nose, before opening her eyes to find his, half-lidded. "I'm scared," he whispered against her swollen lips. "Ilia, I'm so scared."

The confession was so soft that it seemed to her that it was the first time he was admitting to it, to anyone, even himself. "You don't show it," she replied, watching back as his eyes searched hers.

"I don't think I ever knew it... not until now... not until I realized how easily I could lose you," he said slowly, measured, though despite his best efforts, she could hear the disguised emotion in his voice, she could see the shining in his eyes.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. But she shook her head, trying to be brave like he thought she was, "Do you remember what you said to me the day that you left? Just before we parted?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"Don't ever forget that. Think of it often, and remember me always," she pleaded with him, her voice beginning to shake though she wasn't as good at hiding it, "if you remember me, then you'll come home."

He gathered her into his arms, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. He was holding his breath, his chest vibrating as he tried to hold himself together for her. For a moment he let all of the fear in, all the things that he had to force out of his mind before he tried to sleep. His village, the thing he wanted to keep safe, burning to the ground, that girl waiting for him but he is too late, the young boys fighting by his side, but giving up and dying one by one. He thought of them all, but only for a moment.

Then he drew back, swallowing the sick feeling inside, and kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep," he whispered against her skin, allowing himself a moment to rest his cheek against her silky hair.

"I won't be able to," she said.

"I know. But try," he said, pulling himself away slowly, though to him it was like tearing off the covers on a cold morning, taking the plunge into that icy water out on the lake.

As he drifted out of her reach, she slipped her hand into his, squeezing it once before climbing back onto the bed and pulling the covers up to her waist, slipping her palm beneath her cheek as she watched him lower himself over the edge of the loft, and carry himself down the ladder. For a moment she regretted not telling him goodbye, but she knew that final touch was enough for the both of them. Especially when she lay in his bed trying not to let those tears spill over, she wondered if she would have been able to send him off with hope.

* * *

The horse he'd been allowed wasn't as quick as Epona, and so his journey into Castle Town wasn't as fast, for that he was glad that he'd left at the hour he did, escaping the woods of Faron before the sun had fully risen from behind the horizon.

Most of the men celebrated the task, the break from training. But as they began, they soon realized their break from battle wouldn't be as carefree as they'd initially hoped. They packed heavy crates onto wagons, crates of dried food, barrels of water, more blankets, medical supplies, new tent poles, few weapons and various pieces of armor. By the end of the day, despite his weeks of training, Link's arms were exhausted, his back was aching. His week or so off while he was healing wasn't kind to his cause.

After their job was done, most of the men diverted to Telma's. He was grateful for once to be dragged with the dozen soldiers into a place where within minutes they'd all be intoxicated. Telma spotted Link immediately from among the throng of boisterous men, her facing losing its sassy smirk for a moment of melancholy. He could tell she hated his being there.

A mug was in front of him the moment he sat down at the bar, and his eyes rose to find gold, the spark burned out like resignation. She laid one of her hands on top of his just for a moment. "How have you been there, honey?"

"I've been okay," he said. She didn't believe him for a second. He could see that.

"And Ilia?"

"I saw her just last night," he said, picking up the mug and taking a sip. He swallowed hard on the bitter alcohol. It wasn't something he drank routinely, but he was getting used to it. "She said she's been alright."

"As well as you can be I suppose... but she's strong, we all know that," Telma went on, leaning her elbows on the bar, her shoulders hunched like she was totally spent. It hurt him to see even the people that were always supposed to keep their chins up, fighting to keep going.

Link put his hand on Telma's cat, Louise's head as she walked daintily along the bar, stroking her ears back. "How about you? How has business been?" he asked.

"Business? Amazing. All of the soldiers off call or recovering coming in to drink every horrible thing they've seen away. The women coming in after they've seen off their men, crying every single one of 'em. Yeah, business has been great," she said. She didn't need to say anymore about herself.

"I hope you'll be okay," Link murmured, and if she weren't bent over the counter, she wouldn't have heard him over the shouting soldiers.

"I'm not the one you need to worry about," she said, offering him a tired wink. Just then a man stumbled up to the bar, and she glanced over at him before touching Link's wrist gently one last time. "If you need anything, just call."

He watched as she tried to coax an order out of the man for a moment, before turning back to his own drink. He swallowed back the liquor, trying to let the fuzzy feeling inside him spread until he didn't miss Ilia, until he could be exuberant like the others. And then he watched his comrades with their girlfriends or wives or lovers—it was hard to tell the difference when they were like this—falling over one another, their lips locked, faces flushed and eyes shining. He took another large gulp and tried not to imagine Ilia.

He couldn't help but stare as some of the women lead their men off to the inn rooms just above Telma's Bar as the night progressed, and his mug had emptied and refilled again, his cheeks burning at the thought of what they were doing.

His attention was swiftly drawn away though as a cold, frothing liquid was splattered along the bar and onto his clothes. He stood up immediately, watching in distaste as the culprit tried to apologize through a drunken haze. Instead of responding, Link picked himself up to a corner away from the stumbling idiots, and sat at a vacant table, sipping his drink away from the majority of the noise. But as his luck would have it, in such a bustling place, he wouldn't be left alone.

A tall, slim girl, brushed by him, pausing to lean her elbows on the table and rest her chin in her hands. "Are you alright?" she asked with a smile, her words slurring slightly.

Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders and onto the table, her eyes were the purest blue he had ever seen, and he wondered if they seemed especially alight because of the alcohol in her system. Before he even had a chance to respond—though he didn't know what he would say even if he did—she took his mug from off the table and completely finished it, gulping continuously until the cup fell empty on its side.

"There, now you don't have to worry about that," she said, taking his hands and pulling him up to stand with her.

"What are you..." he managed to murmur before she cut him off, pulling their bodies together. For being so slender, he didn't imagine that she would have so much leverage over him, but at the same time, the liquor wasn't making it easy to stand straight and keep his ground. She spun them around so that the table was against her waist before she hopped up and sat on it, pulling Link to stand between her legs.

"I'm sorry I drank it all. I could give you a taste if you want," she said, her breath smelling strongly of alcohol.

His reactions were slow, so when she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, and closed her mouth to his, he wasn't sure what to do. Her lips were open, hot and wet against his mouth, and her legs were locked around his hips as her desperate gasps filled his ears. He could taste the drink Telma had given him on this girl's tongue, just like she'd said.

Her sudden assault knocked him off balance, and he fell forward, bracing his hands on the table on either side of her head. It was in that brief instance, the jolt of falling, that made him realize exactly what was happening. He seized her wrists in his hands and pulled them sharply from his neck. "Stop," he demanded once his mouth was free.

She fell with nothing left to hold onto, and hit her head against the table, making a thud that paused the shuffle of the people around him, silenced the drunken shouts. He gasped, her eyes flying open and a second later, tears filling that brilliant blue. Everyone stared as her legs fell slack from his body, her hands flying to her injured head. Link stumbled back for a moment before taking her shoulders in his hands, guilt churning in his stomach as he pulled her into sitting.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered in the now-silent room, holding her jaw in his hands and watching the hurt on her face. He was suddenly short of breath, his heart pounding as her lips, slightly swollen, those lips that had just been kissing him so furiously, started to tremble. "Are you alright?"

She bit her cheek against the pain, nodding even though she was holding back a sob.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, turning to his right to find Telma standing just a few feet away, eyes wide as she watched them. He sucked in a sharp breath and held the back of his hand against his mouth, staggering past her towards the door.

The cold struck him like a blow to the chest as he stumbled into the dark street. It felt like he was gasping for air, the frigid night clearing his mind and reminding him of what had just happened at Telma's. He found an empty alley, trudging down it before a roll of nausea ran through him and he had to sit, crouching against a wall. He covered his mouth with both of his hands, his mind desperately trying to convince him that everything in the bar hadn't ever happened. He wasn't holding back vomit, the drink that felt unsettled in his stomach now. He was trying to hold back a cry, a cry of terror at what he'd done to that girl, and a cry of guilt for what he'd done to Ilia.

* * *

There was a part of him that couldn't bear to go back to Telma's to rest. But having had no sleep the night before, and being so exhausted after working all day, he found he had no other choice. The bar was silent when he cracked the door open, save for a fire crackling and the hiss of the broom against the floor as Telma swept.

"Hey, honey," she said as he closed the door behind him, though she hadn't even turned around to see his face.

"Hi," he barely whispered, his back against the door.

She stood up straight then, leaning her chin on the broom handle as she gave him a sorry look. "Are you better?" she asked

"Not really," he managed to choke out. There was still an uncertain emotion in his chest that made it hard to speak.

She analyzed him with pursed lips, her cheek in between her teeth. He felt so pathetic, and he hated seeming that way. He hated showing that small part of him to anyone. But Telma had arguably seen him at his very worst, and there was something in her eyes as she studied him that made him feel less alone, less pitiful. "Before I forget, that girl said she wanted to thank you," she said softly, "the one from earlier."

He swallowed back the uncomfortable lump in his throat and narrowed his eyes. There wasn't a single reason he could think why she would be grateful for him. Telma seemed to sense his unease, and leaned the broom against the counter before nodding towards it. "Come here," she said, gesturing towards a stool. She poured him something steaming from a kettle into a mug and set it down as he sat stiffly at the bar. "Don't worry," she murmured, "it's just tea."

He closed his hands around the warm cup, not realizing how numb his fingers had become in the cold night.

"Her name is Lorelai," Telma went on, wiping at a ring of condensation on the counter with a rag, "she comes in here a lot."

"That... that girl from earlier?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded, humming in agreement, "Momma died when she was just a girl, Daddy is an old recluse because of it. Not saying it's right, but she comes here to get rid of all that. There are a lot of men that come in here, that take advantage of that poor girl. Sometimes it's hard to feel bad when she asks for it, when she's so desperate like she was tonight. But she told me that you were the only boy that didn't make a fool out of her. The only one that treated her right when she did something wrong," Telma went on, pouring herself a mug. She decided, for his sake, to leave out the fact that they'd had this discussion while Telma applied ice to the lump on the back of Lorelai's head.

He looked down, felt his face burning. "I didn't do much," he mumbled.

"Well, not doin' much is better than doin' something cruel," she continued. She gave him a long stare as he gazed down into the dark liquid, and then said, "Anyway, I'm sorry that had to happen to you tonight. But I hope you don't feel guilty about it at all."

She could read him too well. All he felt was guilt. "If you see her again, tell her not to worry about it. Okay?"

"Don't worry, I will," she assured him. She slid something over to him then, and he looked down to find a key, "I'm going to go lock up," she said, "your room is the last one on the left."

He nodded, grateful that she'd allowed him to stay there. Some of the others did too, but most stayed in the castle accommodations. He felt more at home here, with Telma and her cooking. It might be one of his last opportunities for a while to see her too. Briefly, he considered the Princess, and her offer for him to stay in one of the larger rooms at the castle, an offer he had declined. He considered how hard it must be for her fighting this war alone as such a young leader.

He knew the reason why he had declined her offer was a little selfish. He didn't want his comrades to think of him as receiving special treatment, didn't want them to think that he was being coddled. And he didn't want them to be curious as to why the Princess was inviting him to stay in her quarters of the castle. But also because he preferred the ease he felt at Telma's. After all, it would only be for one night.

Once he'd finished his drink, he headed upstairs to the room she'd directed him to. By then the halls were quiet, the soldiers sleeping in the arms of their girls. For that he was jealous, wishing that Ilia had come with him into town if only to hold him while they slept.

Laying down on the creaky bed after he'd undressed, a nauseated feeling began to brew in his stomach. Nerves and alcohol, he guessed, but there was something else he couldn't force from his mind. Lorelai, and how small she had looked when he held her face in his hands. She had looked so helpless, and he wondered if she was at that home Telma had described to him, and if she was feeling sick like he was.

Ilia had shed few silent tears while she laid in his bed that night. She wasn't one to cry often, but she could only think of one person that meant as much or more to her than Link, and that was her own father. This wasn't just training anymore, he wouldn't be safe. Tomorrow he was leaving to fight real men and real armies. He could be killed dozens of different ways, and none that could be his fault. Infection, hypothermia, dehydration, blood loss. She'd overheard Captain Vincent talking with her father earlier, talking about how desperate they were for doctors and nurses because of the amount of injured men that had already been sent out to the battlefield. Link could be one of them very soon.

She said a silent prayer, begging for his safety, and for a brief moment, a quiet peace filled the inside of her chest. But soon after, it fled, her imagination getting the better of her.

Those horrible eyes she saw in her dreams seemed insignificant tonight. They seemed like an after thought when in comparison to knowing that her best friend would be facing such danger so soon. He was brave, he was strong, but he was not immortal. Before, she could have convinced herself that it was enough to keep him safe, but now, with reality looming, she wasn't so sure.

This was real. It was war.

* * *

**Kind of a slow chapter. But I guess now we're gonna get down to the nitty gritty. Remember to press the story alert button if you want to keep up with this!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yay, finally. I'm liking this story, so it actually didn't take me long to write this chapter. Just took me long to build up the motivation to open the document. Anyhow, thanks for the reviews. Hope everyone is doing well.**

* * *

Days passed.

Then weeks.

And months.

Snow fell, the pond she would swim in during the summer months froze over. More young men went, and fought, and didn't come back. After some time, it didn't seem to matter as much as it once did, it felt like it was stretching on forever, that it would never end. The longer he was away, the less he wrote, and the worse she felt. Some days she thought he would never come home, and the more widows, or mothers without their sons that she saw, the more she felt like she was right.

How anyone could survive such brutality, was beyond her.

"Ilia?"

She turned her eyes from the window she'd been staring absentmindedly out, a familiar face behind her. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" he asked, resting his hand on her lower back as he gazed out the window as if to see what she'd been looking at. The cold blue light caught in his eyes, turning them to beautiful clear ice. Not like Link's, not deep blue like his.

She turned out away from his touch, "Yeah, I'm fine." She couldn't help but think of Link when Kael touched her like that, and it made the gesture, however innocent, uncomfortable to her.

Kael pursed his lips as she floated out of his reach, finding something more interesting across the room on her bed. He leaned against the wall, watching her as she avoided his gaze. "The war is at a bit of a stand still right now, a stalemate because of the snow and rain. The ground is hard, a lot of their equipment is wet. Both sides are waiting it out."

Ilia nodded, disinterested in the state of the war. It was all he seemed to talk about, it was how they'd become friends in the first place. She'd desired information that would help her know how Link was, and he'd been the only one willing to share it.

"That means he's fine," Kael went on, turning back to the window, "he's not going to get hurt if there's hardly any fighting going on." He wasn't stupid, he knew that was the reason for Ilia acting distant most of the time.

She seemed to perk up at this, though it only sparked more questions in her. "How cold is it where they are?"

Kael immediately saw through this question too, "Not cold enough for him to freeze to death."

Relief calmed her anxiously clenched hands, she could only hope that in some way we wasn't hurt or too cold. Kael's footsteps called her back from her thoughts, and she watched as he walked past her to leave the room.

"Kael?" she said, making him halt at the top of the stair.

He paused, but didn't turn.

"Thank you," she said.

His chin dipped in a nod before he continued on.

* * *

Filth, and mud, and snow, and slush, and rain, and blood, and cold. Those were most of the things Link knew for the past few months. War was much different than even his journey during the Twilight. War was harsh, and filled with suffering. War didn't care about good and evil.

He felt his mind starting to numb as the days went on, following the monotony of battle. Aim to kill, strike to kill, plant to kill. The hearing in his left ear was starting to fade from the constant explosions of canons and bombs, one day in particular when one had gone off so close to him that he was knocked from his feet, and cracked a rib. He hardly felt the cold anymore, was so used to the falling snow and laying in the mud, waiting and watching for the enemy to emerge from their side of the line.

The first few days had been mostly hand to hand, those first few days were when most of the boys died. But after that, both sides retreated back, and shot from afar.

But as of the past couple of weeks, he and the others had just been sitting in frozen trenches, waiting it out, camping behind walls with peeking holes big enough for their arrows to fly through, but never having the chance to let them fly. Johnny was sitting next to him, arms folded tightly across his chest as he tried to keep warm. Like most of them, Johnny's face had started to change within the first week or so in battle, dark circles beneath his eyes, gaunt cheeks, a beard filling in, dirt and cuts and bruises covering every inch. He looked tired, exhausted, and maybe it was because it was the middle of the night, but he knew it ran deeper than that. Even the green of his eyes seemed dimmer than usual. Link knew that look in his eyes. All of them had it, the look when you've seen death so close you can feel it.

There had been so much death he had lost count of the number of letters they sent to family and friends. He had lost track of the amount of letters he's sent Ilia that she hadn't replied to. The ones he assumed had been intercepted, or lost.

"Johnny," he said, nudging his friend with his elbow.

"Hmm?" Johnny inquired, sounding half-dead.

"Maybe if the snow lasts, the other side would be up for a snowball fight, what d'you think?" Link wasn't one for making jokes. It was usually Johnny that had to crack them, but he feared losing one of the only people keeping him sane in this prison.

There it was, he barely saw it, but it happened nonetheless; Johnny's cheek lifted in half a smile. "I dunno, they probably wouldn't put up that great of a fight, living in the south all their lives. Probably don't know what a real snowball fight is like."

Link's hands were already forming over a misshapen lump of snow, "Let's say we test that theory, eh?"

"Link, what are yeh—" But before Johnny could finish, Link had stood up, and flung the snowball over the barricade, knowing full well that the snowball would never reach their side, before ducking back into safety. Only a second later, the familiar _thunk_ of an enemy arrow embedding itself in the wall was their response.

"I guess that's a no to the snowball fight," Link muttered, fidgeting against the wall until he was comfortable again, trying to keep his feet under him so that his pants wouldn't get wet.

Johnny shoved Link's shoulder with a smile, a real one this time, with white teeth peeking out from beneath his beard, "You're stupid as they come, kid."

His face sobered, though only slightly as he attempted to offer one last reassuring glance to Johnny. "I know," he murmured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old letter from Ilia, reading it over for what seemed like the thousandth time. It was the last one he'd gotten from her, back before the snowfall. He was glad to restrict some of the truth when he wrote her, glad to leave out some of the details of every day. When he had left for the war, he knew that in her head she saw him on the front lines of an army, sword in hand, flags waving over an empty plain. She didn't expect that most of it was sitting in the cold and mud, waiting out bombs, shooting when you had the chance, waiting more, seeing who could wait the longest without starving to death, without going crazy. He knew she had thought this because so had he.

In his mind he had seen a glorious ride on horseback toward the enemy, trampling them and shouting victory. That's what the books he'd read as a child had made war out to be. It happened much slower in real life, there was much more strategy, moving slowly, trying to push back, trying to catch them off guard. But then there were times like this, where both sides were pushing just as hard and going nowhere.

"How long has it been?" Johnny asked then.

"Hmm?"

"How long since you've gotten a letter from her?" he asked.

His eyes fell—longer than he cared to admit. He understood if she was trying to pull away, should something bad happen, but it didn't ease how much it hurt. Before he could answer though, a boy down the line from them, sitting with his back against the barricade started coughing, coughing so hard that it drew both of their attention to him. He was one of the new ones only just brought in, one of the young ones.

"Hey kid, you alright?" Johnny called down to him.

No response, only more hoarse coughing. Link was on his hands and knees, crawling over to him before Johnny could ask again. As soon as he was close enough, he grabbed the boy's shoulder, looking into his cloudy blue eyes with a steady stare. "Hey, you're going to have to try and breathe, okay? I know it hurts, I know," Link began, recognizing the flu that was sweeping through their camp.

The young boy took in a shaky breath, only one before he let out another retching cough.

"Here," Link said, unstrapping his canteen and handing it over, "drink some water, but try to keep breathing slow."

He hastily undid the cap, swallowing back some of the icy water. He kept his mouth sealed tight, breathing in and out slowly through his nose.

"There you go," Link said, he pressed the canteen closer to the boys chest before saying, "you hold onto that for now."

"Is he okay?" Johnny asked as Link backed up to where he was sitting before.

"He'll be alright," he replied, but even as he said it, he wasn't sure if it was the truth. Three or four had already been evacuated from camp because of the illness, another couple had died in their sleep.

"You better not get yourself sick," he warned Link, "I had a tough enough time when you decided to almost freeze to death back during training."

"That was entirely unintentional," Link said.

"Worst week of my life."

"I already apologized for it."

Johnny looked right at Link, his sarcasm already beginning to falter until the two burst into laughter. "I swear though, some of these boys don't know how to say more than three words at a time. 'Yes sir,' 'No sir,' 'Right away sir,' 'would you like cream in your tea, sir?'"

"That's more than three words," Link chimed in.

"The point is," Johnny said, waving him off before firmly grasping Link's shoulder, "you better not die on me. I need someone to keep me sane."

Link attempted a smile though it didn't reach his eyes. "I thought we decided we weren't entirely sane to begin with," he said, trying to brush it off.

"I don't think the world is ready for me to completely go off the deep end though. Just the partially crazy me they can tolerate."

Link whistled, "So the one I know is only the _partially_ crazy one?"

He anticipated the backlash to his joke, some snow tossed at him maybe, or a punch in the arm. But as he glanced towards Johnny, he found that his friend was peering through the peep hole, brows furrowed in concentration. "Link," he said, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve, "look."

Link crawled over and replaced Johnny in front of the peep hole, staring across the plain to the enemy trenches. However faint it was, he could see light, little dots of lights racing back and forth—men holding torches and running outside the trenches. Then noises, like distant thunder started echoing from their base, clattering and thumping.

"What's going on?" Link said.

"Either they're planning an attack, or something's spooked 'em," Johnny said, his voice muffled, and when Link lent him an eye, he was loading an arrow into his bow. He peered over the wall, bow pulled tight and one eye closed.

"Johnny, wait," Link said, putting his hand on Johnny's wrist, the one about to release the arrow.

"What?" he asked, allowing some slack.

Link put a finger to his lips, hushing him as he looked over the wall, the lights still moving back and forth. Very slowly, he stood up, exposing his torso, and started to wave his arms over his head, as if calling for their attention. Johnny yanked on the hem of his coat, trying to pull him back down, but Link waited, waited for them to shoot.

But they didn't.

"They're not paying attention to us," he whispered, "and I don't think they're armed. They're making noise, but they're not doing anything. Just drawing attention to themselves."

"Why?"

He lowered himself back beside Johnny, his back against the wall, eyes scanning the area carefully in the dark of night with his hands at his hip, fingers finding the cold hilt of his blade. "A diversion."

Johnny let out a shallow sigh, his breath catching. "So where are the ones that are actually trying to kill us?"

"Let's find out," Link replied, pushing himself forward to crawl toward the ladder leading back down into the trench.

The two slipped quietly around to the back of their base camp where the thick trees on Hyrule's edge made way for the plain of their battleground. It was the single thing that reminded Link of home, staring into the twisting corridors of trees that would lead them back to Hyrule. There were many times that he yearned to run away into those trees and never come back, but he could never bring himself to do it.

"Shouldn't we—I don't know... get more soldiers?" Johnny asked quietly as Link stopped in front of a tree, reaching for a branch above his head to climb it.

"If there are too many of us, they'll hear us coming, they'll back off. The enemy would only have sent two or three, not enough to be noticed. We don't want to clear out our camp. They'll work fast, silently, keep your eyes open," Link grunted, pulling himself up.

Johnny started to climb a tree near the one Link was hoisting himself into, his brows pulled together. "And how do you know all that?"

"I don't," he said, situating himself on a branch with his back against the trunk, arrow at the ready.

"Oh," Johnny sighed, "how comforting."

"Hey," Link hissed, pointing beyond Johnny's line of clear sight to a rustling in the grass. He pulled his bow tight, waiting, heart pounding, breath racing. Johnny squinted to where Link was aimed when he heard something further to his left. Another enemy. An anxious pain squeezed his chest, and he whistled quietly to catch Link's attention, pointing to the source of the noise.

Link nodded once in reply, turning back to his own target.

And then he saw it, a man emerging from the dark, dagger held fast in one hand, long blade in the other. His face was covered in paint or dirt—he wasn't sure which—but it made him harder to see. His clothing too was different than the gold and green he'd seen the other soldiers wear, they were dark colors, not as form-fitting. He looked prepared for his job, he had no idea that Link and Johnny were waiting, and by the ruckus his camp was making, it seemed all of them were focused on the diversion.

Johnny released his arrow, a dull thunk, a pained gasp, and the man fell over. The one that Link's eyes were trained on, glanced over at his fallen comrade in shock.

Link let his arrow fly before the man could call out to run.

They both waited for more to emerge, but when none did, Link signaled to drop down. Johnny nodded from the other tree as his friend swung down to hang from the branch he was just sitting on, the bottom of his boots hanging a few feet from the ground. Letting go, he waited for a moment, crouched on the ground until the stinging in his ankles faded from the impact, and stood.

It was then that he heard someone moving close behind him, someone he hadn't noticed.

It was then that he saw a flash of silver in the dim moonlight under the trees.

He stumbled back, but not before a searing pain sliced through his left cheek, blacking out his vision, paralyzing his senses. The ground was suddenly beneath his back, a hand pinning down his chest, the weight of another human over his torso. And when he could finally see again, he saw the point of the blade, stained with his blood, poised above his chest.

Glistening and ready to deal death.

* * *

Ilia's eyes opened in a panic, the prickling remnants of a dream still in the soles of her feet, the back of her neck, the palms of her hands. Her hair was sticking to her with sweat, terror sucking the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was roll over and try to calm her breathing with the blankets pulled close to her feverish face, trying to eliminate the images of Link's face, bleeding as he laid on the ground.

She wasn't sure how late it was, late enough for the village to be quiet. But she couldn't be alone any more, not with the awful feeling in her stomach, with her own thoughts to torture her. More than anything, she wanted to find her dad and curl up in his arms until she fell back asleep, exactly what she would have done as a little girl.

But as she grew older, and into her teenage years, she would seek out her best friend, sit with him on his couch until she could calm down.

Her mouth was dry as she climbed out of his bed, wrapping herself in a blanket and pulling on her shoes before slipping silently through the front door into the cold night, and down the ladder. Her home wasn't far, only a few minutes walk, so she didn't bother with a coat.

The village wasn't empty like she expected, and her heart started to race as she neared her home and saw the silhouette of a man standing on the porch, the orange glow of a pipe illuminating his eyes for just a moment until it turned to smoke, hiding his face again.

"Kael?" she said as she came closer.

He jumped, clearly startled by her presence. It must have been the middle of the night.

"Ilia, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I... I don't really know. I had a nightmare. I didn't want to be alone," she explained timidly.

He nodded, lowering the pipe from his mouth. She'd known him for a few months now, and she didn't know he smoked.

"What about you?" she asked, moving a step closer if only to move closer to his body heat.

"Oh, I uh... I guess I have some pretty bad dreams too," he said gently, his voice hoarse.

"What about?" she asked him.

He seemed surprised that she'd asked, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. For a moment he tried to find the right words, his eyes dropping, though nothing came from his mouth. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me," she said.

"Oh, no... it's not that. It's just, the Darkness, I was a soldier during that time. Saw things that... well, anyway," he trailed off. Ilia knew exactly what he meant, though her and her friends and family had referred to it as the Twilight because that's what Link had called it.

"I... I was taken by the dark creatures," she told him in a voice just above a whisper, "so I know."

"You were?" He seemed shocked.

"Yeah, the day the Twilight—or, the Darkness covered Ordon, Link and I were just up by the spring. And they came on beasts and took me and the other four kids. But they left Link. And I don't know why," she continued, that heavy feeling rising in her chest again.

"Where did they take you?" he asked.

"They were taking us all towards the town... but I tried to help the others escape just outside of Kakariko. And they got away, but I got caught. And they kept me in a dungeon. I don't really remember going there, they hit me over the head once they caught me again," she explained, tracing her fingers delicately over the scar on her forehead. For whatever reason, the words just came out, they didn't remain trapped in her throat like when she tried to tell Link.

"How did you get out?" he pressed, a light of curiosity in his eyes.

She let out a long breath through her nose, trying to recall that moment. For a long time it had seemed just a blur, a rush of adrenaline, and stone walls racing past her as she stumbled over her feet, tripped into an underground canal, being swept through the sewers and ending up in a pool on the north side of Hyrule castle, finding Ralis on the shore, almost dead. "I don't remember. My cell door was opened one day, and the monsters weren't there. So I ran."

"That must have been hard," he murmured.

"I don't remember a lot of it," she replied, "when I got out I didn't even remember my own name. I didn't even recognize Link when he stepped into the bar where I was staying."

"How come? Because of when they hit your head?" he questioned.

Ilia shrugged, "Telma, the lady that I stayed with, she thought maybe it was because my mind was trying to repress the trauma of what happened to me when I was in there. That makes sense to me."

"What do you mean?"

A wave of sickness rolled through her. A reaction to the flashes of the memories she had of her imprisonment; a cold hand over her face, making it hard to breathe as those creatures studied her body, finding what made her scream in pain, what made her kick, and fight them back. She remembered having her head shoved under water and held down until she stopped fighting. And she remembered sleepless nights that made her question what was real and what wasn't.

She hadn't noticed the tear that fell from her eye, and she wiped it away quickly. "Because sometimes our minds don't let us remember terrible things. Sometimes they're too awful to live with."

Kael was standing so close that it only took him shifting slightly closer for her to lean into him and wrap her arms around him. The blanket fell from her shoulders to the ground, but she didn't feel any colder. His coat was open, and her arms snaked beneath it, holding the warmth of his body close through his light knit shirt. Her ear was pressed to his chest, his heart hammering beneath it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. Maybe for what she went through, maybe for holding her like he was. Maybe he thought she'd regret it.

But in that moment she didn't. An immense calm swept through her, the peace of being held tight to another living person. She hardly thought about Link, because she felt good for the first time since he left, and she didn't think he'd hold her happiness against her. No, Link never would.

"Kael," Ilia said in a whisper.

"What?" he asked.

She kept her face against his chest, the dampness in her eyes soaking into his shirt. "Did you see terrible things too?"

His lungs expanded against her cheek, arms tightening around her shoulders. "War is full of terrible things."

The nightmare came storming back through Ilia's thoughts. Link, the blood, the mud in his hair. She wondered how many horrible things he would have seen by the time he made it back, how many he'd already seen.


	10. Chapter 10

**yayyy. Update. I actually had more I wanted in this chapter, but it was getting a bit long so I decided to end it where it is. Hopefully this means the next chapter will be up sooner since I have ideas brewing!**

* * *

There was a moment where he thought of a great deal of things he wished he'd said. It could have only been a fleeting second or two, but inside his mind, a million thoughts were spinning. Mostly thoughts of the girl back home who thought he would come back.

And then that second passed, and in a last effort to save himself from the blade above him, he braced his attackers wrists, stopping him with the knife no more than an inch above his throat. He wasn't strong enough, he could feel himself losing quickly as the tip dug into his neck, a hot pain bursting from the spot as blood spilled down the side of his throat. The man on top of him leaned forward, pressing more of his weight onto Link, and drawing more blood from the wound. A pained groan of effort pushed its way through Link's mouth, one that turned into a muffled cry of defeat. He was going to die, right here, and he never told Ilia that he loved her.

The pain was gone in the next moment, and he was sure that he was dead, his consciousness hanging on for one last second as the knife plunged into his jugular. But he awaited the darkness, and nothing came. Only a stinging where the enemy had drawn blood.

When he sat up, his body aching, he found the source of his salvation; Johnny atop the other man, his own blade stuck straight through his body. Johnny drew it out, and shoved the silver knife, stained with the man's blood, right back in. The soldier on the ground flinched once, like his nervous system was reacting though the man was already dead.

"Link, you okay?" he asked, breathing heavily, eyes locked on the corpse pinned beneath him.

Link blotted at his neck, there was a lot of blood, but it wasn't overly painful. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Bastard..." he muttered under his breath, cleaning the stained knife on the other man's clothes.

"Hey, we should get back," Link said, getting to his feet a bit shakily, "if there are more coming, we'll need to let them know."

"Yeah, just a second..." Johnny mumbled, his teeth gritted together. He crawled off of the fallen soldier, pushing himself unsteadily off the ground, though one of his hands clutched at his side. There was blood on his fingers, though Link was unsure who's it was.

"Are you hurt?" Link asked, taking a step towards his friend, fear starting to brew inside him.

He didn't answer immediately, just held onto his side. "I just... ah—" he began to say, his voice breaking as he let go, revealing the tear in his tunic, the spreading patch of glistening crimson.

"Johnny!" Link said with a start, rushing to his side and pulling one of Johnny's arms around his neck. "Is it deep? Can you walk?"

"I can walk, you priss," he grumbled, but the way his jaw clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut, he wasn't sure that Johnny was entirely as confident as he seemed.

"We need to get you to the doctor," Link went on.

"I'm aware," Johnny said. Link knew his sarcasm came on strongest when he was worried. And he knew that as they hobbled back toward the trench, Johnny breathing hard the whole way, that he was very worried for his life. They didn't speak until they reached the doctor's quarters, when Link was all but dragging Johnny.

"Hey, we're here," Link said, trying to jostle him back to full consciousness. But as he did so, he felt Johnny's full body weight collapse against him, and he had to settle him to the ground. There was sweat pasting his hair to his face, but he was trembling like he was cold, the blood seeping further into his clothes. "Hey!" Link said, patting Johnny's cheeks, a breathless panic rising in his chest, "You've gotta wake up, Johnny. Remember what you said? Remember, we've got to keep each other sane, right?" His eyelashes fluttered a bit, the dull green growing dimmer. "Come on, it's not bad. It's not bad," Link continued, trying more than anything just to keep him awake, but he could feel the choked emotion in his words now.

"It... it doesn't hurt," Johnny managed in a quiet voice.

By then Link could hear his comrades voices around them. He could hear the confusion and the bustle as they tried to get help at realizing one of them was injured. "That's right. They're going to fix it right up."

Then Johnny's eyes opened further, though Link could tell by the way his eyebrows pulled together that it wasn't necessarily a good thing. "Your face is bleeding, Link."

He wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, remembering just then the slice he'd taken. There were tears in his eyes now, one that spilled, the saltwater burning through the wound. "Yeah, couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?"

"Link, move out of the way," someone said then, the doctor behind him.

Someone else tried to ask him what had happened, called for someone to get a bandage for Link's face, but he could hardly pay attention. His answers came without thinking, his attention fixed on one of the only people in this sorry place that had become his friend.

* * *

"Will he live?"

"Hmm... it's still hard to say."

"Is it infected?"

"No... thank the Goddesses, no."

There was a pause in which Link let out a sigh of relief. His commander watching over the conversation he and the doctor were having. "It's a noble thing he did," the Commander muttered then, "it would be a shame to lose him."

"Link?" the doctor inquired then.

"Hmm?"

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

Link scratched at the stitches in his cheek, before mentally reminding himself not to. It had only been a night since he and Johnny were attacked, but with Johnny's life balancing precariously on the edge of death, he hadn't been able to fall asleep for longer than an hour at a time. His answer should have been no. He was not alright, he was exhausted, he was cold, he was in pain, and he was afraid. But instead, he said, "I'll be okay."

"New men are coming in three days time, we'll send Johnathan back with the sick and injured," the Commander interjected. Link bit his cheek, somehow he'd have to make it through Johnny's recovery alone. "Link, you'll join them as an escort and to retrieve new medical supplies," he added a moment later.

"What? Sir, I can fight. I don't need to go—"

"Son," the Commander said, taking Link by the shoulder and turning him away from listening ears, "almost all the rest of soldiers have taken a three day leave, and you and Johnny have constantly denied your chance. I'm not sure if it's courage, selflessness, or idiocy, but you haven't taken a day away from this place in months. And that long in this place, without a good night's sleep is enough to drive a man mad. I need you at your best when we go to battle. You're no good to me dead. I'm not asking you to go, I'm making you."

"I just... I like knowing that if we succeed or if we fail, I had something to do with it. If I was gone—" he began again, only to be cut off a second time.

"You can't hold all of it on your shoulders. You'll never have peace of mind with the well-being of Hyrule solely up to you. You can't do everything by yourself, Link," he said, more firmly this time.

"I know I can't," Link replied, though he couldn't help but think of the time when he had to do everything by himself. When no one, save a few brave souls, were there to help him. No one constantly there but her. A pang of guilt sizzled through him, her face before him for just a second. He had tried desperately to not think about her, hated the feeling inside him when he couldn't help it. And he hated admitting that he loved her, maybe not like he loved Ilia, but he did. He had grown to love her. He never wanted to dwell on that fact that she'd severed their gateway to one another to keep him safe, perhaps out of her own love, he never wanted to dwell on the fact that for so long he had thought of it as betrayal.

Betraying his trust, his hope that they'd meet again.

"Go home, Link. If anyone has deserved it, you have," the Commander said then, breaking him from his reverie, and for that he was thankful, "and write that girl of yours, telling her you're coming."

* * *

Home seemed so different from the last time he'd seen it. The snow was new, he'd never seen Hyrule Castle under a thin layer of snow. He was nervous for whatever reason, maybe seeing Ilia for the first time in months is what sparked it. But even if he was nervous, he was beyond excited. She was meeting him in town, was probably already waiting in the square along with the families and sweethearts of every other soldier with him. Johnny rode by his side, face sullen as he cradled his side. It wasn't nearly healed enough for him to make the return journey though, no, Johnny wouldn't be fighting again for weeks.

But he'd survived, and that's all Link could ask for.

"At least it's stopped bleeding," Johnny said then.

"What?" Link asked.

"I don't want Celeste to be worried when she sees me," he replied, "she'll be worried enough as it is."

"I'm excited to meet her," Link commented, mostly to himself.

"You told Ilia, right?"

Link nodded, "She should already be there."

"Well then, I'm excited to meet her as well," Johnny said, mustering a grin though Link knew after such a long ride on horseback, he must have been not only exhausted, but in excruciating pain. _That's Johnny,_ Link thought to himself, _keeping me sane even after he's almost died._

There was a commotion as they rode under the arch and entered town. Shrilling cries of happiness, tears, soldiers abandoning their horses on the side of the rode as their loved ones surrounded them. Link's hands were slippery on the reins, his nerves making his stomach hurt.

The whole of the square was full with clamoring children and wives and mothers and fathers, so he couldn't see her right away, and panic struck him, panic that she hadn't come. He heard Johnny's name being called, desperately from a woman with curling dark hair down to her waist as she squirmed through the crowd. "Johnny!" she nearly screamed again as her face came into view.

Link had never seen Johnny move so quickly as he climbed off his horse, elbowing his way through the bustle of people toward her. "Celeste!" he called back.

And then they found each other, colliding into a kiss the second they were within reach. He'd never seen so much passion, it made him want to look away if only to give them some privacy amongst the throng of people. He climbed off his horse and looked to see if any of the faces guarded by scarves and hats were familiar. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

No one caught his eye. He found Johnny and Celeste again throughout the mass, still locked together at the mouth, but not her.

"Link?"

He whirled around, eyes falling to the color of the green water of summertime. Her blonde hair was longer than when he'd seen her last, spilling out from the hood she was wearing, and over her scarf. He was certain that her coat was new because he'd never seen it before, but despite all the change, she was the same.

She was Ilia.

Link pulled her into his arms, holding her as close as possible. Her body was trembling, and judging by the quiet sounds of her swallowing and sniffling, he knew she was crying. The ground became blurry as tears filled his eyes. She was here, she had come for him after all this time apart.

She pulled back only slightly then, her gloved hands finding his cheeks so she could look him in the eye. She smiled, a real smile that could have turned into a laugh were it not for the tear that trickled down her cheek the next second. "You have a beard," she said, her voice thick.

He laughed in spite of the tears. "That's all you have to say? After all this time?"

She shook her head, joining him in laughter as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, "I guess after all this time I expected nothing would have changed. But everything changes eventually, doesn't it?"

Link's face sobered at that. He wished it weren't true, but it was. He gathered her into him again, smelling her hair, and the clothes that smelled of home, picking her up from her feet as she wrapped her legs around him, not minding that the bottom of her boots were caked in mud and snow.

"Oi! Link!" The pair turned to find Johnny and Celeste walking towards them, grins plastered on their faces. Ilia unhooked her ankles and touched back down to the ground at their approach, still clinging to Link's arm, because even though she knew it was silly, there was a small part in the back of her mind that was afraid he would be lost if she let go.

She knew from Link's letters who this stranger was immediately, and extended her dainty hand, "You must be Johnny, I've heard so much—"

But Johnny wasn't one for small talk and pleasantries. He took Ilia's hand and pulled her into him, hugging her tightly. "Come 'ere girl," he said.

Ilia was laughing, her cheeks rosy and Link could see she was slightly flustered in the big city with so many people and so much going on. Ilia wasn't shy by any means, but the way she clung to him made him think she was overwhelmed, however slightly. "I assume you already know this is Ilia," Link laughed.

"Well, I was hopin' so," Johnny said, "This is my girl, Celeste. Celeste, this is Link, my best mate."

"Pleasure," the woman said, her lips curving into a smile. Ilia felt very small in comparison to her, the girl with the perfect eyebrows and lipstick and ringlets in her hair, but not as much when Link leaned over and kissed her temple as if sensing her worry.

"Hey, we should head over to Telma's before it gets too full," Johnny piped in then.

"Good idea," Link said, slipping his hand into Ilia's, and slinging her bag over his shoulder before quietly murmuring, "let's go."

Once they were out of the main square, the streets were quieter. Fewer soldiers and families reuniting and more merchants going about their usual day in the cold. Most of them had already closed up shop as evening approached, and soon Telma's Bar would be flooded with citizens and soldiers alike. There was already a small bustle inside her doors when they arrived, warm light enveloping them immediately. Link took both of their bags and told Ilia he would take them upstairs to their room. She'd somehow managed to avoid the topic of sleeping arrangements when she'd told her father that she'd be in town to see Link, for which she was grateful. That was the only time Ilia left Link's side that night, but she was content to run towards the woman behind the counter and throw her arms around her.

When he came back downstairs, Ilia and Telma were still hugging and laughing. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but there were tears glistening in both their eyes, a long awaited reunion between the girl who remembered nothing, and the woman who had kept her safe. Link hadn't thought of it before, but she probably suited the mother role Ilia lacked in her life. There was something in Telma's eyes, like the pride a parent feels when their child has come so far, the sadness of seeing their innocence being left behind.

"And here he is," Telma said, turning from Ilia as Link neared them both, a smirk on her face as usual, "the boy that's caused you all this trouble you speak of."

"The very one," Ilia agreed grinning.

Without another word, Telma poured them both a mug of ale, and then after Link had introduced both Johnny and Celeste, she poured two more. "I hope you don't have many more friends, Link. I'm going to go broke," Telma teased.

"These are the only ones I care enough about," Link said, and thanked her for the drinks. Later that night before he went to bed, he would leave money on the counter, but she wouldn't know who it was from. If she did, she wouldn't let him leave it.

The two couples found a small table in a corner, sitting at it as Johnny rambled off the tale of his attack. Link was paying more attention to Ilia who hadn't touched her drink. Link didn't think she would, he didn't think he'd ever seen Ilia drink. He hadn't either before he started coming to Telma's regularly. Before that, the only times he had anything with alcohol were holidays or birthdays, and only within the last couple of years.

"You gonna drink that, sweetheart?" Johnny asked her, finding the source of Link's attention.

She glanced down at the dark brown liquid, weighing her options, trying to decide. But then she decided to be brave. Her father would sometimes drink the bittersweet smelling drink, and though she didn't particularly like how it smelled or how it tasted the one time she'd tried it, she decided to do what none of them expected of her.

She lifted the mug in her hands, and touched it to her lips, taking one swallow, then another, gulping it back until it was half-empty.

It burned in the back of her throat, but she quickly swallowed away the feeling, taking in dropped jaws and wide eyes. "What?" she said.

Johnny was the first to break the silence, bursting into laughter, "Link, I love this girl!"

Link almost said, "_Me too_." But held his tongue. He didn't want the first time he said it to be like that. Celeste quickly interjected, putting any awkward silence to rest, "What about me?"

Johnny turned to the brunette girl beside him and cupped her face in his hands. "I think everyone knows I only want one girl."

"Oh," she purred, "good answer."

Not a second later, they were attached at the lips again. Link just smiled and looked down at the table, scratching the back of his neck. The display put an odd feeling in Ilia's stomach... or maybe it was the buzz from the alcohol. But altogether, looking at them, made her want to touch her lips to the boy next to her. She shook her head and took another drink, cheeks pink just thinking about it. Sure, she had kissed Link before, but never in a public place like this, never like _that._

"Do you want to go?" Link asked, covering her hand that was resting in her lap with his own.

"Go?" she inquired, setting the glass back down.

"I'm tired," he said with half a grin, his eyes drooping with fatigue, "we could go upstairs, where it's quiet."

"Alright," she said, heart racing at the thought of being alone with him. She would have to try harder than usual to remain proper with him under the effects of the ale.

"I'm just going to go say goodnight to Telma," he told her, standing up and squeezing Johnny's shoulder once as if to let him know that he was leaving. Johnny only hummed in response against Celeste's mouth.

They pushed their way through the boisterous crowd up to the bar where Telma was busily dishing out food and drinks, collecting money, and tabs, and entertaining those around her all at once it seemed. Link thought that she must be best at what she does. Ilia held tight to him, not wanting to get separated, or worse, trampled under the noisy men. She tried not to look at them for too long, the way their glassy eyes shifted over her made her feel sick to her stomach, and had she not been so close to Link, she would have been terrified.

That's when she saw her, a girl maybe her age, long dark hair, pure blue eyes, pinned up against a wall near them. A man was suckling at her neck, though she didn't look like she welcomed it.

She looked scared.

Her hands were pushing at his shoulders, trying to get him away, but he was so tall, so big, she seemed like a child fighting against a grown man. She _was_ just a child fighting against a grown man. "Link," Ilia said, loud over top of all the laughter and shouting. She pointed towards the girl and the man, who was now trying to work his way to her lips.

Link's face froze, like he'd seen a ghost, or something worse... like Ganon himself had walked into the bar. "I know that girl," he said.

Before Ilia could respond, he was pulling them towards the girl with the blue eyes, fast, like he was ready to lurch at the man and wring his neck. When they'd pulled away from the throng he gently pushed Ilia aside, "Stay here," he said before proceeding to pull on the man's shoulder. "Hey, leave that girl alone."

The man was a bit perturbed to say the least, sneering at Link before returning to the girl pinned against the wall that was trying to cover her mouth.

Ilia could see Link's shoulders rise and fall quickly, taking a deep breath before he grasped the other man's forearm. He spun around just the same, but this time Link didn't give him the time to talk, or explain, or fight back. He punched him square in the face, right over the cheekbone. The girl behind them screamed, and Ilia jumped, not quite believing what she was seeing.

He stumbled back only slightly as Link shook out his hand, his knuckle already throbbing as the attention of nearly every person in the bar that wasn't passed out on the floor or snogging a woman, flashed to them in less than a second, their voices fizzling into quiet murmurs as the man cupping his cheek found his nerve. He lunged forward, catching Link in the lip.

That was all it took for the army men, the ones that knew and respected Link, and not to mention Telma, to respond, yelling and shouting curses as they seized his burly arms in seconds, wrestling the brute towards the exit as Telma warned him not to come back. Once she'd seen that he was sealed on the other side of the door, out in the cold of winter, she pulled an ice pack from the freezer box and took it towards Link who was leaning against a wall, dabbing at his bloody lip with his sleeve. All of this happened, but Ilia and that girl with the blue eyes were still standing, unmoving against the wall, startled into stillness. Everything was happening so fast, yet for Ilia she felt like every time she tried to move, she couldn't, time was passing but she wasn't in it.

Link took the ice and pressed it to his mouth. Telma continued on and slipped her arm around the other girl's shoulders, leading her somewhere safe. But Ilia was left against the wall, her heart hammering erratically.

"Ilia."

She looked up then to find blue eyes, ones she was very familiar with. He slipped a hand into hers, the other holding the ice pack against his lip. She was aware that there was a great deal of muttering and shuffling as he passed through the crowd with her in tow, that many—if not all—eyes were on them. But everything seemed quiet, there was just him and her, with no curious gazes on their backs as they climbed the stairs to the inn, and closed the door behind them as they found their room.

And then the quiet seemed suffocating. It was just him and her, in one small room with one bed. She supposed that even had their been two beds for them, she would have ended up climbing into his, but the idea that there wasn't a second, scared her to pieces. "I can give you a moment alone to get ready for bed," he said then, bursting the barrier of silence with just a gentle voice. She nodded gratefully, finding her bag on the foot of the bed as the door clicked shut again.

He returned a few minutes later after she'd changed into a nightgown, and sat beneath the covers waiting for his return. He had a cloth in his hands, and he had changed down into his night clothes somewhere else. His eyes met hers, half-lidded with a ghost of a smile teasing his lips, like he'd just discovered something very pleasing after a long day. She hoped that she was his 'something pleasing'.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he said, motioning towards the wash basin against the wall with something silver in his hand. "I had to borrow Johnny's," he explained as he filled the bowl with water.

It made sense then, the squared off blade he was holding, as he lifted the edge to his cheek, shaving off the months away, shaving off the passing of time in the snow.

Link found it odd to find the part of himself he recognized more thoroughly hidden beneath the beard he'd become accustomed to. His facial hair had never been long or overgrown, but it had covered the youth in his face, hidden well the fear that showed in the part of him that was still a little boy. His cold eyes grew misty in the mirror before him, the contrast between the younger him he remembered, and the circles beneath his eyes that were new.

Ilia watched him intently the whole time, seeing the boy who kissed her on the rooftop coming back to her, though not completely. Her stomach dropped as she watched his face in the mirror, the one that should have been hers, but just wasn't. She wasn't sure if this boy still belonged to her.

He laid down after he was finished washing up, and her palm immediately came to rest on his cheek. She smiled at the smooth touch, "You look like you again." It was mostly the truth.

There was no response as he tucked her under his arm to rest her head against his shoulder, his other hand settled on her waist. His heart was beating slow when she laid her palm over his chest, but she felt it quicken if only slightly, as she pressed her lips to the soft underside of his jaw.

She pulled back suddenly though at a loud _thump_ against the wall outside in the corridor. Both of them seemed to hold their breath, that is, until giggling from outside interrupted the silence. "I think Johnny and Celeste have found their room," Link whispered.

Ilia continued to listen as the door to the room next to them swung open, the pair inside scuffling across the floor towards the bed she imagined. Every now and then it sounded like they'd bump into something, knocking it over, and then she'd laugh. That girl with the dark curls was probably just happy that the boy she loved was alive, Ilia thought. She supposed the walls were thin though, because she could hear every movement, only slightly muffled, from the squeaking of the bed frame, to the desperate gasps that were coming from the other couple's mouths. Ilia felt her cheeks begin to burn as Link pulled her in tighter, nestling his cheek against her hair.

She felt a restlessness begin to brew inside her, one she'd always been too afraid to feel. It made something deep in the pit of her stomach ache, and it was only made worse by the indiscreet moans from the other side of the wall.

As the sounds died down, she wondered if that would ever be them, if they would ever be married, and if he would make love to her on their wedding night.

And she wondered idly if he'd ever made love to a girl before. Perhaps while he was gone on his journey, maybe he had. Maybe it was that girl with the blue eyes.

"Link," she whispered then, causing him to stir.

"What?"

She swallowed, "How did you know that girl? The one that you helped downstairs?"

He shifted against her, rubbing her arm up and down slowly. "She... the last time I was here, she was drunk... and she kissed me."

Ilia froze, her heart starting to hammer, her head spinning. She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, but he went on.

"And I... when I pushed her away, she hit her head. I never really—I couldn't forgive myself for hurting her. Telma told me that she comes here a lot, and she gets taken advantage of, just like tonight, a lot of the time. She lets sick men like that touch her, because she feels like she isn't worth anything better. So I didn't want to see it happen again, if I could, I wanted to try and help her feel like she doesn't have to do that to herself. I'm sorry..." he ended gently.

She wasn't entirely sure why he was sorry. Maybe because he had kissed her, and though Ilia felt a tremor in her chest at the thought, it wasn't his fault. He had helped that girl just the same, and she should be proud of him for that.

"I think it's good what you did," she said, propping herself up to look at him, look into his tired eyes, at the thin red line over his cheekbone that was still healing. They'd been lucky since returning to Hyrule to have access to spring water or red potion that helped the healing process along, luxuries they didn't have on the battle front. He'd only had the stitches in for three days before he could take them out, and those three days were spent in the trenches. "You look so tired," she added, running fingers through his hair.

He covered her hand with his own, "I've been tired for months. I don't know what it feels like to sleep well anymore."

A lump formed in her throat as she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "You can now," she murmured against his skin.

"You don't know how much I miss you while I'm gone," he said, his voice almost pained.

"No, I do," she whispered, because she missed him just as much. She touched her lips to his then, holding his face fast against hers as he secured her to him, wrapping his arms around her lower back. She hitched a leg up around his waist, her nightgown not concealing her legs anymore as his fingers found her hips, skin against skin. They climbed higher up the small of her back, but then stopped abruptly when she gasped.

She hadn't ever let him touch her like that, even though it was just her back, it was not far from her bra strap, and suddenly her pounding heart and her brain caught up with her through the haze of alcohol.

"Not now," he inferred after a moment of silence, pulling her nightgown back down to cover her body again.

"Not now," she agreed almost silently, caressing her lips over his cheek.

She laid back on her side, and he turned onto his to look at her. He rested his head on his arm, touching her hair gently, his other hand holding hers between them. She touched his lip, eyes lazily scanning his face. "Ilia," he whispered.

Green eyes met his, curiously waiting.

"I think I love you," he said quietly.

She paused a moment, and kissed his knuckle once. "I know I love you," she said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sooo. I'm just going to blame my obsession with Supernatural for how lazy I've been...**

**I know some of you are probably like "Link, man up. Don't be such a wuss." But I really just wanted to dig into what really happened with him, and how much crap he went through. And I wanted to get into PTSD and how hard it is to work through, even if you are the hero.**

**Anyhow, thanks for keeping up with this guys!**

* * *

His sleep was restless. It wasn't pleasant and quiet and warm like he'd expected it to be with Ilia beside him, back in his home country with no sound to keep him up save for the trickling of melting snow on the eavestrough outside. He assumed his body had been trained so well to be alert at any motion, that any time Ilia rolled over, or moved closer to him, he would wake. And though it tormented him to keep waking over and over again, sleep so far from his grasp, he took comfort in the fact that every time he did, her soft face was there, peacefully dreaming.

So he savored those moments when he laid awake and everything was calm. Savored them for when he was woken from a horrible dream of war and chaos.

Ilia didn't sleep well either, often times Link would jolt in his sleep like he'd heard a canon go off in the distance. He would start breathing hard, tremble in a cold sweat as Ilia tried to wait it out, trying not to let it bother her too much. Not bother her that it was keeping her up, but that it was hurting him so.

There were many times when both of them were awake, with their eyes shut and bodies still, trying to convince the other that they weren't being kept up. The very last thing Ilia wanted was for Link to feel bad that he was waking her.

She didn't know what time it was, but she could see light coming in from the window eventually. She'd woken when Link was having another dream, or nightmare she guessed. His eyebrow twitched as though he was in pain, his nose wrinkling up in distress and then his chest started to rise and fall quickly, soft whimpers coming from his throat. Usually he could just fall back asleep, but this time he woke, the nightmare not dispelling along with his unconsciousness however. It held onto him, clung to his sanity as he choked on air.

Ilia pulled herself closer to him, touching his cheek with her palm. "Link, you're dreaming. Wake up," she murmured.

His wide eyes found hers, the panic softening into grief. "I'm sorry," he whispered, clearing his throat of the thick feeling that suffocated him. Sitting up, he bore his head in his hands, wiping the sticky sweat from his brow and temples where his hair stuck to him.

"I wish you'd stop saying that to me," Ilia said, sitting up beside him and pulling her knees up to her chest, "you haven't got things to be sorry for."

He managed to raise one corner of his mouth. That was his Ilia, always telling him what to do. "Alright," he said, "I just, I probably woke you... didn't I?"

"It's okay," she replied gently, "I get it."

"There's just some things... I can't... I uh, can't stop thinking of," he whispered, his voice faltering, "things I've seen—"

"We don't need to talk about it," she said, cutting him off, "not unless you want to."

He turned to look at her, something between curiosity and disbelief in his eyes. "You don't ever wonder why... why this happens to me?" he asked her. She'd never seen him struggle for words so much. It was like all his guard was down.

She wished she could say no. She wished that she could easily turn a blind eye to the things he must have seen when he slept, or the things he'd done. Hesitantly, she began, "I... there's only one thing."

He swallowed, afraid of what he might have to confront on the other side of that statement. "What is it?"

She folded her arms and rested them on her knees, and then laid her cheek on her arms. "It's just something I heard you say last night while you were dreaming." He didn't answer, just waited in terrified silence. It prompted her to continue, "Who's Midna?"

Out of all the options running through his mind of what to expect, that was the last thing he would think of. He swallowed on a dry lump in his throat—what could he even say to explain to her? The insides of his stomach clenched, his heart racing again, he didn't want to talk about her, not at all. He didn't even want to hear her name. "We'll speak of her this once," he began in a slow whisper, "and then I'm asking you to never speak of her again. Not to anyone. Not to me, especially not to me."

Nerves began pumping through her veins, questions flying about why he would speak like this, what would prompt him to. He didn't speak for a long while, and Ilia was afraid that perhaps he'd lost his nerve to tell her after all. But then his brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, like all that time he'd just been trying to find the right words.

"After you were taken, Midna found me. She helped me find you, and the other kids, she helped me when no one else could. When no one else was willing to. And she was the only one there for me the whole time, that made me keep going," he began, his jaw clenching as he swallowed, taking a breath with a fierce intensity in his eyes.

"What... what happened to her?" Ilia asked so quietly she wasn't sure if he heard her. She'd never heard him talk about her before, and she'd never seen him act like this.

He looked up then, the dim light catching in his dark blue eyes and drawing out the pain hidden within them like poison from a wound. "She's gone. And I'll never see her again, and I will never be able to thank her for any of it... That's why I don't want to talk about it, because it will never change the fact that there's nothing I can do to bring her back... nothing I can do to change the way things happened."

Ilia felt tears pricking in her eyes. She was unsure how to respond, or comfort him. She remembered a time when he first came home, when there was that look in his eyes that told her he'd lost someone he loved. It occurred to her now that it must have been her, Midna. She wondered why in all their time together, Link had never mentioned her, why she had never seen her. She'd never seen this level of regret in him, she'd never seen how angry it made him, and it scared her, scared her to the point of tears.

He didn't expect her to understand. He'd never been good at talking about his parents, never about anyone precious to him that he'd lost. And he didn't ever expect her to understand that Midna's leaving was her own choice, so he decided to keep that part for himself. He hadn't known until just moments ago that anyone besides himself and the Princess would ever know of Midna and the impact she had on him. It was easier to leave Ilia in ignorance, thinking that his Midna had died during the Twilight. As he turned towards her to gauge her expression, he found his beautiful girl, with tear-stained cheeks watching him quietly. "Why are you crying?" he asked her softly.

She shrugged, though her forehead scrunched with emotion and she wiped beneath her nose quickly. "Because... I'm sad for you," she managed to say, her voice thick and about to break.

He studied her briefly, she was very much the opposite of Midna. She was all light, her golden hair grown longer and spilling over her shoulders, her pale skin soaking in the morning, and eyes green like the forest he'd grown up in. "I don't want that. I want you to be happy," he murmured.

"You're my best friend," she replied almost immediately, but then paused before saying, "what makes you happy, makes me happy. What makes you sad, makes me sad."

"But this is supposed to be a happy day. You're here, and I'm safe, right?" he asked, reaching over the small space between them to move her hair away from her face, and wipe a damp cheek.

"But it won't last," she whispered, unable to bring herself to say it any louder as she closed her eyes, leaning her face into his palm.

"It'll last for today, that's all we can ask for," he told her.

She opened her eyes again, but didn't look up at him, her gaze remained downcast. "I know."

"What do you want to do today? Do you want to see the town?" he asked quietly, hoping to take her mind off of what their lives would look like by tomorrow.

It was then that she finally looked back up at him, and he could see why she had been avoiding his gaze, her eyes were misty like she was fighting back the tears, and when she looked at him again, she wanted them to be gone. She was always trying to be strong for the people around her. "Okay," she whispered, nodding once as they settled themselves back against their pillows, hiding from the cold morning beneath the blankets.

There was an unspoken agreement as they both closed their eyes, that they would wait for more light, that they would try to regain some of the sleep they lost the night before.

* * *

The city was big. Although, it wasn't much bigger than Ordon if you included the ranch. But the city was dense, houses and stores lining the streets, the buildings so tall Ilia felt almost like she was walking through a long winding tunnel. And there were so many people, all in a hurry it seemed. The time she spent in this place felt like years ago, and all of it was so fuzzy. She vaguely remembered where the doctor's was, but what she remembered most was being hunkered down in Telma's with the poor zora prince. So she clung to the man beside her, asking him silently to guide them both safely about the town.

The day was cold, so the grounds were frozen and layered over with fresh snow, there were no puddles or slush, just the silently falling flakes around them. He took her to his favorite places, or places he had fond memories of, and all the while he held her hand while they shared warm food from the street vendors, and caught glances and smiles as they walked and he talked.

"There was a homeless man that always used to beg for money here," he said, pausing their journey in front of the western gate inside a stone corridor, "I would sometimes stop to give him something if I could spare it..."

Ilia watched his face and waited for him to go on, but he didn't look up to meet her, his face was solemn, his eyes downcast.

"He told me something once, I don't think I'll ever forget it."

"What was it?" Ilia prodded gently.

"He told me not to worry about what could happen, only what needs to be done," Link said, eyes still trained on the spot where the beggar man once stood, and then his lips twitched, a ghost of a memory coaxing a smile from them, "he had no idea who I was, or what I had to do... but that was the best advice I've ever had."

"What happened to him?" she asked.

Link's face screwed up like he was momentarily fighting an inward pain, and then he shook his head, "He died."

"I'm sorry," Ilia said, swallowing back the lump in her throat. It seemed to her like all the people around Link were dying. That Midna girl he talked about, she wondered if he felt at all responsible, though Ilia would never ask. He asked her to never speak of Midna again, and she would respect that, despite how much it ached inside her to know.

"It's okay," he said, and this time he meant it. He took a steadying breath and smiled, he would have one day to smile, so he would try to as often as possible, if only to give Ilia some comfort when she went back home that he was going to be okay.

"Is it?"

He nodded though the brightness in his eyes softened, "Yeah. He was old... When I used to go out riding after the Twilight ended, I would come to this place, and one day he just wasn't here. They told me that he died in his sleep, just like it's supposed to be."

Ilia wondered briefly how many people Link knew that hadn't died like they were supposed to, that had died far too soon, but it was a painful thought, so she cut it off by stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Someday we'll be old, isn't that weird to think of?" she asked him.

She felt his breath in her hair as he laughed silently, "Someday."

"Will you still love me when my hair is grey, and my skin is wrinkled?" she asked him, looking up towards his face.

Link seemed to weigh his words on his lips for a moment as he took her cheeks in his hands, "I'll always think you're beautiful."

"But will you still love me?" she asked, her eyes clear and wide, asking earnestly.

"I've always loved you," he said and then took a deep breath, "I always will."

Gently, he guided her back a step until they were hidden in the shadow of the scaffolding above their heads, her back against the stone wall. But there was nothing gentle in the way he crushed his lips against hers, pinning her body tightly between his and the wall. For a moment he saw everything he could have, a future and a life in Ordon, this girl kissing him, marrying him while their friends and family watched proudly. He saw her lying beside him in bed, her skin bare, her face so beautiful, her eyes softly watching his. She was cradling their baby in her arms the next moment, and he was teaching that little child's older brother or sister how to ride.

He saw everything.

"We're going to be okay," he murmured against her lips.

She pulled back and looked up at him, brows knitted together in confusion. After a moment she asked, "Will we?"

"Yeah," he whispered, holding her close to him, breathing her in and trying to burn this moment into his memory. He wanted this to keep with him when he felt like death would be easier than living in the mud, surrounded by the smell of the dead, sanity balanced precariously on the edge. This moment would pull him through it all.

It would make him strong.

Rusl once asked him, while they sat around a table at Telma's when they'd first met again, how he could do it. How he could take the world on his shoulders, be a "hero", how he could do it when it all seemed so daunting, when everything was working against him.

Link hadn't thought about it before, and so he didn't respond immediately. But when he did, he told Rusl that he was doing it for the people he loved, so that Uli's baby would have her older brother, that she would grow up in a safe world. He did it because he had people that he needed to go home to, he had people that he needed to see again, and if he gave up, he wouldn't be able to.

That's what had gotten him this far, and this moment with her body nestled against his, that's what would keep him going.

Link didn't think he'd be able to sleep that night, knowing it would be their last together for who knew how long. Tomorrow morning Ilia would head back to Ordon, and he would spend the day with the other soldiers, packing equipment and supplies. He'd known going into his "three day leave" that he would only have one full day to himself. Half of the first day was spent traveling, the second was to spend as they pleased, and the third preparing for the journey back. He knew it was how these things worked, but that didn't make it easier knowing how long it would be before he could see Ilia again.

But as he lay in bed, tangled up with her, her fingernails trailing delicately up and down his arm, he felt nothing but calm. He fell asleep, and his only dream was that of the wolf in the white field, though this time Ilia stood by his side. Maybe the spirit of that golden wolf was still looking out for him.

He slept through the night, the first time in almost a year.

* * *

"Hey."

There was a flutter in Ilia's heart at realizing she wasn't alone, a flutter that soon died down into disappointment.

She turned from where she sat on the floor, folding clothes and putting them back in her drawers to find a tall man watching her. He looked happy, a slight grin on his face though his eyes were masked with something like empathy. Ilia wondered then if her eyes were still puffy from crying on the journey home. She'd allowed herself that much time to cry, but now that she was back, she would be okay, just like she told Link before. "Hey," she replied.

"Your dad told me you were back," Kael murmured, sitting on the edge of Link's bed to be closer to Ilia's level.

"I got back this morning," she told him, her hands still working.

"How was it?" he asked.

She took a breath and bit her cheek before answering, making a point not to look at him, "It was good."

Kael hesitated, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them until he decided to break it, "How was he?"

"He um..." Ilia began, her lips quivering as she looked up towards the captain that had become her friend. By the time she found her voice again, it wasn't much louder than a whisper,"He was tired."

His icy eyes remained on hers, searching and understanding the pain on her face. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the floor, his back against the bed so that he was beside her. "I know," he replied just as quietly. It was sometimes strange for Ilia to think that he had been in the army and seen battle too, that he knew what Link was going through.

It wasn't the first time she had leaned into him, hoping for some kind of support or comfort, and like before, he was willing to take her into his arms. "He just seemed so sad, you know?" Ilia told him, her shaking voice muffled in his shoulder.

He rubbed her back once, careful not to push his boundaries. She was trembling, he knew she was crying, and though he didn't have much experience with knowing what to say, he tried to help her. "I know, but he's strong. He'll be alright, okay? He's hurting right now, and he's trying not to show it, but eventually after all of this is over, he's going to be alright."

It became very apparent to her in that moment that Kael wasn't just trying to ease her worries, but he was speaking from experience. Kael rarely showed the ghosts of his past on his face, of course he was a good few years older than Link, but he was once just a young soldier, afraid and tired and hurt. Maybe there were nights where he didn't sleep, where the terror kept catching up with him, but he never showed it during the day, he never seemed rundown. So maybe he was right, maybe time could heal all wounds.

Maybe one day she wouldn't think about those nights spent deep beneath the castle of Hyrule.

"Thank you, Kael," Ilia murmured, sitting back up out of Kael's reach.

"Anytime," he said, his voice just above a whisper. He stood up then, knowing that at this time, his place wasn't with her. She was just like the others that had been left behind—they always needed some time to adjust to the sudden absence of their loved ones in silence, alone. Kael briefly remembered the girl he left behind to fight, how he was told that she wouldn't speak to her family or friends for days after he was sent out. But he didn't linger on that thought, mainly because it led to another thought about the same girl, and how she decided she didn't want to be sad anymore, and left him behind for someone else.

He tried not to blame her, how could he? But it still wasn't easy, after all these years.

"Hey, Kael?" Ilia said though, before he could leave.

"Yes?" he asked, turning back over his shoulder.

She seemed to hesitate, chewing on her lip as though she was embarrassed before finally saying, "What would you think about me moving to the city? To... to learn how to be a nurse. That way I could do something useful, and I could take care of the soldiers... and maybe they could tell me about Link. I just remembered you saying something about how they're short on staff, and I thought that maybe, I don't know, I could help... somehow."

His heart sank though at the moment he didn't know why. Before he could let it show however, he pulled himself together and swallowed hard on the lump in his throat, "I think you would be perfect."

A knot twisted in his stomach as her cheeks turned pink, a dainty hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I haven't told anyone yet. But I've been thinking a lot about it. Especially when I was there these past couple of days."

"You should do it," he said, nodding encouragingly, though his words seemed less enthusiastic, "I think that would be great for you."

"Thank you," she said fervently, "you're a good friend."

He grinned though it didn't reach his eyes. "I better be going," he mumbled, "I'll see you later."

Ilia waved as he turned and left, the fear and sorrow inside her slowly being replaced by confidence. It blinded her to the look on Kael's face when he said goodbye, and as he closed the door behind him, he realized what was causing the sick feeling in his stomach.

He didn't want her to leave.

* * *

For whatever reason, Link had expected things to look different when he returned. But the battlefront was much the same—the blood soaked earth hidden beneath a thin deceiving layer of snow. The men still looked worn and tired, and suddenly Link felt naked without the beard he'd grown accustomed to, the one he hid beneath when he felt like he might break. He would have to be strong for the men now, for a while at least.

"Link," one of his comrades said upon noticing the arrival of the new soldiers and those returning from leave. He shook his hand firmly, his green eyes alight with a sudden excitement, "I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks," Link replied, he tried to offer half a smile. Obviously he wasn't as glad to be back.

"How's Johnny doing?" the man asked, keeping his voice low like they'd been taught to do in case of enemy spies. Even though now their conversation wasn't of any consequence, the lesson stuck.

"Oh, you know Johnny. He was back drinking and laughing in no time," Link said, "not much can keep the guy down."

"Well that's good, I'm glad."

"Anything... happen while I was away?" Link asked, nodding over his shoulder for the man to follow him to the dugout where the army slept and kept their possessions.

"We managed to push forward a bit once the snow stopped... not much, but it's progress, you know?"

"Yeah," Link murmured, "I keep asking myself how hard we have to push before somebody gives."

"I think everyone is asking themselves that," he said as Link put his stuff down. They were in for another long night, the time for sleeping and resting was over, and so he opened his bag to pull out a heavier cloak, one that would get him through the cold of night.

And sitting on the top of his things, right beneath the drawstrings of his canvas bag, was a piece of paper, or rather, an envelope, slightly crumpled with only his name on the front. But the hand that wrote it was familiar to him, and immediately his heart began to hammer. "Thanks for the update," Link said then hoping to dismiss his comrade while his eyes were still trained on his name, fingers slowly drawing the letter out from his bag.

Thankfully, another soldier entered the dugout then and whispered something in the other man's ear, though Link didn't know what he said, he was glad that it prompted him to leave quickly.

With trembling fingers he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter, unfolding it and finding it filled with her writing, the script, the way the letters looped and crossed so precious to him. _Link,_ she wrote:

_I'll be gone by the time you find this, back home to Ordon. But it won't really be home. See, I always thought of Ordon as home because that's where I grew up, that's where I've been all my life. But I don't think that anymore. After you left, it didn't feel like home. It felt like it could be anywhere. But last night, in that small room in Telma's tavern, in a place neither of us really knows, I felt at home again. I felt more at home in that bed that wasn't mine, with people I don't know sleeping in the rooms beside us, than I have for months back at my house. _

_ I guess that's it, that I don't need my things or my bed, I don't even need to be comfortable to feel at home. It sounds silly, and childish I suppose, but I just need to be with someone I love the most. And I love you the most. I'm never going to take that back, I've been waiting almost my whole life to tell you that I love you. I waited even longer for you to tell me._

_ That's why I wanted to write you this letter, so when you opened your bag, or when you reach into your pocket when you're cold or tired, you'll have hard proof that I do. You don't need to doubt your memory of what we said, of what I said, and you'll know that right now, no matter when you read this or think of me, that I'm waiting for you to come back here so that this place can be my home again. _

_Love,_

_Ilia_

He bit his cheek hard, eyes growing misty as he thought about his beautiful girl that still wanted him after everything she'd seen him go through, what she'd learned about his past and that he wouldn't ever be right. But because of her, he'd try.

And he would try harder than ever to go back to her, to their home. Because when he did, there was no doubt in his mind, when he went back he would marry her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey everybody. I'm pretty sure I'm going to apologize to you every time I update for being so late... I seriously haven't had a day off to just stay at home and write in forever. I'm pretty sure the "TWO MONTHS LATER" thing that begins the chapter is accurate to how long it took me to do this. Heh heh, I'm writing this in real time. Okay, lame commentary aside, this is basically just focusing on what's happening to the characters now, how their lives and their world has changed. I know it's a little dry, that's why the chapter is shorter than most. But it happens. I promise you I have a bunch of action planned out that is coming soon!**  
**Also, to those of you reading "Us Against The World," I have the day off tomorrow, so guess what I'll be doing?**

* * *

TWO MONTHS LATER

* * *

"Link..."

"Link..."

Link's consciousness slowly came back to him, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to wake up at this point. He could still feel the brisk air of night upon them, though there was a bustle around them that could only mean that it was morning.

"Link!" the voice attempted one last time in an urgent whisper.

He breathed an inquiry, his eyes still shut as he tried to hold onto what little sleep he could. There was a hand on his arm gently shaking him, and then as he spoke he realized that it was Johnny. "Come on, I grabbed you some food."

He blinked once or twice, the grey morning unfolding around him. They had fallen asleep the night before a few hours after midnight, and the sun hadn't risen past the horizon yet. But this was normal, he didn't expect more than that, though it was still hard to come to terms with waking with so little energy.

All of the men were growing weaker day by day. It came to the point where taking leaves back to Hyrule were fewer and farther apart. So many of the soldiers had been injured, so many of them didn't even make it back to the hospitals. The remaining comrades had been stretched thin, and it showed. Link didn't know what he looked like, but Ilia wouldn't have recognized him; his beard had grown in again, scruffy and filthy, dirt caked onto his skin and under his fingernails. His lips were chapped and sunburned, though it was only the spring, the long days outside had started to wear on him. Sometimes it was hard to separate the living from the dead because they all looked the same—all wore the same dead expression on their filthy faces.

Sending and receiving letters became almost impossible with the increasing rate at which they were intercepted. Fewer men were willing to risk their lives over a letter from a loved one. And so for days which soon became weeks, Link read the last letter that Ilia had sent him as often as he could, and hoped that her promise would still stand when he got out of this place. That she would be waiting for him at their home.

"Thanks," Link mumbled as Johnny handed him a hard scone. He didn't even remember the last time he'd had a hot meal... probably back at Telma's, or just after his return to the front. The men at camp tried not to dwell on news of Hyrule, of the food shortages, the lack of jobs, the increase of poverty. War was a difficult time, and with all funds focused on victory so it would all be done with, the innocent people were the ones that suffered.

"I got a letter today," Johnny muttered then, though he didn't perk up like anyone would when they had the chance to receive word from home. He imagined that whoever it was from had paid a large sum for someone to bring it back with them, that was usually the only way they made it back. Which is why he rarely heard from Ilia, she didn't have much to spare. Link braced himself, waiting in silence for Johnny to go on. His hands were shaking, Link could tell because the leaf of paper was trembling. Johnny rested his forehead against his palm and then rubbed his scalp, pushing his overgrown hair back. "Celeste is pregnant."

Link felt his eyes open wide, revealing the blue that had long been hidden under half-closed lids. "She is?" was all he could think to say.

"What am I gonna do?" Johnny asked himself quietly, his brows pulled together in panic, "What is _she_ gonna do?"

"You'll figure things out," Link offered gently, "if anyone can learn how to be a dad, it's you. When you get back—"

Johnny cut him off with a scoff though there was no humor behind it. In truth, he looked terrified. "I'm not going back, Link. None of us are. The joke is that we're still trying when this war is just going to leave us all dead and our families back home with nothing."

"We're gaining ground on them every day," Link countered with little confidence.

"Can't you see it?" he replied, voice weak and breaking, "We're just pawns, mate. They don't even bother with feeding us right anymore because what's the point? They're feeding us to the front lines to die. And I've got a girl back home with a baby in her that's waiting for me to come back and take care of her, and instead she's gonna have to sort through dead bodies to identify mine if they even bring me home—"

"Stop," Link demanded, unable to deny that the horror of Johnny's thoughts were slowly taking hold of him too, "you and me, we're supposed to keep each other sane. You can't lose it like this on me, you can't."

"What have I done?" Johnny said to himself then, his voice just above a whisper, "None of this should have happened."

A drop of water fell onto the letter then, blurring some of the ink though Link couldn't make out what it said. For a moment Link dreaded rain and the mess it would make, but then he realized that there were tears on Johnny's face.

"She's going to be okay," Link told him after a moment of silence, though his thoughts quickly fled to Ilia, "all of them are going to be okay."

* * *

Ilia wiped her hands on her apron and took a deep breath. She would need to be brave for the next little while. It could be five minutes, it could be twenty. But she doubted it would be for more than an hour. She drew back the curtain surrounding the bed in front of her and pulled a stool up to its side. "Hi, Mr. Orr," she said quietly to the man laying on the bed.

He barely opened his eyes, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You can just... call me Jared," he mumbled slowly as though it took every ounce of will to speak.

"Okay, Jared," Ilia murmured back, "I have to change your dressings... do you understand?"

He winced slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. But he dipped his chin in a nod.

She licked her lips, and tentatively pulled the hem of his shirt up past his stomach where a stained patch was covering a wound. She'd been told that during a bombing, a piece of debris had lodged itself in Jared's abdomen. Removing it would be considerably painful, and would most likely result in his death. And so they patched around it, preserving his life for as long as they could. That's all they seemed good for these days. Never fixing anyone, just giving them longer to live in excruciating pain before they died. Jared had only been in the hospital for a day or two... no one expected him to live much more than that.

His body jerked under her touch, his breath racing as she peeled back the bandages, slick with his blood and revealing the horrible looking piece of metal jutting out from his body slightly. "I'm sorry," she said gently.

She could see his jaw clench and unclench. That was harder, harder than seeing the blood and the deformities in the men that came in, was seeing how hard it was for them just to lay in bed, how much they suffered.

"Where are you from Jared?" she asked, trying to take his mind off of what she was doing.

"You're really going to try that?" he muttered through gritted teeth, "Pretend to be interested so that I don't notice how messed up I am?"

Ilia cleared her throat, discarding the used bandage on a tray by her side. "I can see that it's not working."

"Up north," he responded anyways, after some hesitation, "in the mountains."

"Do you have a family there?"

Jared shook his head slowly, "It's just my dad."

"Does he know you're here?" she continued, dabbing at the seeping wound and trying to ignore the way his body responded.

"I doubt it. The army isn't great for sending word out about your welfare until they're sure you're dead," he said with a grimace. "And what about you? You've got a pretty face... why are you spending your time around a bunch of guys with missing limbs?"

Ilia managed a smile, "I always thought four limbs was too much."

"Guess that rules me out," Jared muttered after taking a deep breath, "do you have a husband?"

The question surprised Ilia. Usually the question was if she had a boyfriend, and she'd never thought herself old enough to be married. But she supposed she was now, she could be married. "No." she said with a soft smile though there was a ghost in her eyes as she thought of Link.

"There must... be someone," he prompted.

She let out a breath through her nose and momentarily paused her work. "He's fighting like most men these days."

"So," Jared continued with clenched fists as she began carefully wrapping around the piece of debris again, "was the idea... to wait until he shows up here?"

"I hope he doesn't have to, but if he does... at least I'll be here for him. I can help in some way. I mean, when you can't fight you get to feeling pretty useless. At least I can do something," she finished the last part quietly.

It was silent as she finished up, she could feel the heat of Jared's pained eyes on her and it made the back of her neck burn. "Nurse?" he blurted out finally when it seemed like he couldn't clutch the sheets any tighter, when his breathing had sped up so much she thought he might pass out.

For a moment she considered telling him her name. But then again, what was the point if this might be the last time they ever spoke. She looked up, an apology in her eyes though it didn't seem like his inquiry was a plea for her to stop.

He went on, his breath shaking, "Am I gonna die?"

A million answers raced through her mind. He would see through a lie, he would give up hope at the truth. Instead she touched his hand gently, and said, "I don't think it's up to me to say."

"The doctors won't operate," he whimpered, his resolve to stay strong slowly dying out as she finished up, "why?"

She looked down in her lap at her hands, the blood of this man still under her fingernails and staining her fingertips. It was because he would die if they did. And the few doctors that they had weren't about to waste their time trying to help someone that wouldn't live. Jared wasn't a priority. "Because they're afraid," she barely said above a whisper, glancing back up to him.

But he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, eyes partially lidded, glazed over. His hands had let go of the sheets, they were soft, blue veins running underneath his skin. And he wasn't breathing hard. He wasn't breathing at all.

Ilia took a deep breath, her limbs going weak. It happened every time. It was like a piece of her was leaving with them, and it left her drained. But after a moment, she rose from her stool, carefully leaning over Jared and brushing her fingers over his eyelids until they rested close. She was right, he didn't last an hour. He barely lived for twenty minutes.

She collected her things and headed out to wash her hands of his blood, catching the Head Nurse along the way, "Jared Orr is dead," she said quietly.

The Head Nurse only acknowledged her with a somber nod. "Go prepare clean dressings for his bed," was all she said.

"Yes Ma'am," Ilia murmured, brushing past her. She knew by the time she came back up, Jared's body would be gone.

* * *

There was something about the smell of wet pavement that Ilia loved, and so as she left the hospital that evening, she paused just outside and stood against the wall, breathing it in in the dark of night, water still trickling off the eaves trough she stood under. The roads were quiet, even the back ones where the children would play before their mothers called them in for dinner. She supposed it was too late for that anyways.

She walked silently back to the place that had been home for her for over a month, her hands in her pockets as she looked past the narrow channels above her head, the stars hidden behind cloud.

Ilia opened the door to Telma's Bar expecting a barrage of customers, but even though it was just past midnight, the bar was empty save for its owner cleaning up behind the counter. "It's so quiet," Ilia said loud enough for Telma to hear as she closed the door behind her.

Telma glanced up and gave her a weary smile, "Folks don't stay out as late as they used to. Got better things to do." Ilia offered a knowing nod and sat down on one of the stools. "And what about you?" she went on, "When was the last time I saw you home before midnight?"

"They let me go early tonight," she said with a shrug. Telma studied her face, waiting for more of an explanation. By now she knew Ilia too well. Ilia glanced up to find Telma still watching her, her bottom lip between her teeth. She cleared her throat and looked down at her hands in her lap, "my patient died, so they let me go early."

"I'm sorry, honey," Telma offered.

"I'll be fine," she replied, "I think I'm just going to head on up... maybe I can get more than five hours of sleep tonight."

"Now wait a second," Telma said before Ilia's feet could even touch the ground, "Ilia, sweetie, you're gettin' thinner than a broomstick every day. When's the last time you had a decent meal?"

"Well I—"

"Never you mind, I'll just heat up some of this broth," she said with a sparkle in her eye. Telma was always helping people, she just wasn't herself when she wasn't.

"I'll be okay—" Ilia attempted again.

"Please, honey. For me... I just need to know that you're going to be alright when you're under my watch," she said, her offer turning into a plea.

A pause passed between the two, until Ilia finally dipped her chin in a timid nod. Telma let out a deep breath and lit the stove, stirring the pot on top of it for a moment before returning to Ilia at the counter. "Does it get easier?" she asked, covering Ilia's hand, now sitting on the counter with her own.

"Does what?"

"Being there when people die."

Ilia swallowed back the sick feeling in her throat that was there whenever a patient at the hospital passed away. It was always a horrible feeling, like a lamp, heating and lighting the room has been suddenly blown out. There's something odd about a lifeless body. Like they had never existed in the first place. Growing up, their childhood, all the memories they held, it was like a switch went off and all of those memories disappeared. The memories that made up that person. "No... I don't think it gets easier. I just... I think I'm getting used to the way it feels. My body is learning how to cope with the feeling... but I think the feeling is just as strong every time, no matter how many times it happens."

"You're a brave girl, braver than most men," Telma murmured, leaning her cheek on her fist.

A flash of a memory clicked in Ilia's head, and she grinned despite herself, "Link told me that once."

"He was always a smart cookie," she grinned back, "have you heard anything from him lately?"

She shook her head but lifted one corner of her lips for the woman on the other side of the bar, "You'd know if I had."

"And..." she paused, ladling the soup, now warm, into a bowl for Ilia, "what about Kael?"

Something pinched inside Ilia's stomach, and she tried to soothe it away before Telma turned back around though it left a minute grimace on her face. "He wrote me the other day," Ilia said plainly.

Telma put one fist on her hip, her other palm on the counter after she'd set down the soup in front of Ilia. Her eyebrows were raised, that look of wanting more information than she was getting. "Honey, are you ever going to talk to him?"

"What do you mean, I always write him back," Ilia said, slightly baffled as she brought the spoon to her lips.

"I know, but you have to realize he's interested in more than just keeping in touch," she said, her voice just above a whisper like they were keeping it a secret from the people upstairs.

Ilia hated this topic. "He knows I'm waiting for Link to come home."

"Have you ever actually told him that?" Telma asked. Her voice was soft though, she knew this late that she was walking a very thin line.

"I shouldn't have to," Ilia murmured, pushing the bowl back away from her an inch before she climbed down from her stool, "thank you for dinner."

There was a small amount of guilt weighing on her chest as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom at the end of the hall, the one that Telma had given her because it had the window that looked out onto one of the back roads and in the summer the ivy along the wall bloomed with violet flowers. It was like a little piece of the forest by Ordon, and so it was comfortable like home. Although she had yet to see the flowers in bloom.

She hadn't realized how tired she was until her head hit her pillow. All of the sleepless nights, the long hours, the grueling work and all the mounting exhaustion finally broke her. She didn't have time to think about Kael and what she would ever say to him that wouldn't estrange the person that had become one of her closest friends. She didn't think about Jared Orr and how his father never got the chance to see him before he died. She barely even thought about Link and how tired he must have been, she only wondered if he was still alive.

But her thought was brief, because moments later she was asleep.


End file.
